


Beauty and his Beast

by virtualpersonal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Angst and Humor, Beauty and the Beast, Desire, Fantasy, Feels, Historical, Innocent Sam, Lite bondage, M/M, Prince Dean, Romance, Sam Feels, Sassy Crowley, Sex Pollen, Sexy Times, Teen Sam, Twisted Fairytale, Violence, Virgin Sam, bodice ripper, dubcon, fairytale, fairytale AU, farm boy sam, sam and dean are not brothers, trouser ripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:51:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 146,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3119123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualpersonal/pseuds/virtualpersonal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Dean crosses galaxies and ruthlessly strikes a bargain enabling him pluck Sam away from family and home . Sam only hopes he will survive the cruel attentions of this heartless half-man half-monster who has secret agendas and expectations that Sam cannot fathom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://s1114.photobucket.com/user/virtualpersonal/media/story%20art/mediumbannerhooded_zps1962b34f.jpg.html)
> 
> Co-written with Lady Fetish

Leaning forward and digging his heels into the sides of his mighty steed, Prince Dean thundered across the frozen wastelands, leaving behind a trail of ice chips kicked up by his horse. His breaths, and those of his steed, misted the bitterly cold air in quickly disappearing puffs. For as far as his eyes could see, there was only ice, snow, and long-dead, naked tree trunks that only emphasized the desolation. 

 

Once, a very long time ago, Castica, one of the world’s thirteenth principalities, flourished and was a hub for merchants and farmers, even exporting its goods to far off lands. Those days were far gone. Sometimes Dean wondered if his memory of the beautiful, lush green countryside, the excitement of the bustling capital city, and the excesses of its rulers and citizens, was just a figment of his imagination. 

 

Years had gone by, then decades, and now a century, and more, since that fateful day when he'd crossed that bastard man-witch, Patrick. One day, Dean was the head of state of one of the most prosperous principalities in the world, and the next day, he was sitting on barren, worthless lands. All but his castle, and that part of the city within the castle walls, froze over. People, so many of them, were frozen in time, in their houses and beds, on the roads, and at their places of employment. It was an eerie sight that often struck fear into the hearts of castle dwellers who ventured beyond the safety of the walls.

 

In the early years, the feral animals thrived. They fed on each other, and on the frozen humans unable to protect themselves. It had taken years, but the castle dwellers had left the safety of the castle walls, facing nature’s cold fury in order to barricade doors in front of cottages, close up stables, stores and residences. They'd done the best they could, and yet, the animals often broke in or found and devoured the bodies of the frozen people that the castle dwellers had missed or been unable to secure. The lands were vast, the conditions harsh, and the number of people left alive were few in comparison to those who were, for all intents and purposes, gone.

 

Then a new threat had arisen. _The wraith._ Some of the frozen humans started to walk the land, mindlessly seeking food. The theories were plentiful. Perhaps these were the humans who'd been bitten by the feral creatures and the animal bites brought the wraiths into a state of half-life. Perhaps those who rose were breaking free of the curse and would eventually find their humanity. That theory made Dean snort, he was neither an optimist nor a fool. In his view, the rise of the wraiths was the beginning of the end. If Patrick’s curse remained in place, then someday, the wraiths would outnumber the castle dwellers and keeping them out would be impossible.

 

As Dean approached the castle wall, he heard the sound of a horn announcing his presence. His horse barely slowed down as the gates were drawn up. At breakneck speed, he headed up the winding road, past the cottages and old city, and on up to the castle itself.

 

*

 

Dean dismounted and handed the bridle to a stable hand. He unclasped his hooded black velvet cloak, and shrugged it off his shoulders. It wasn’t necessary, here, in the temperate climate within the castle walls. 

 

"Your highness, it is long past sunset," Crowley pointed out, a hint of censure in his tone as he caught and started to fold the Prince’s cloak over his arm.

 

"The fact has not escaped my notice. I haven't lost my sight," Dean answered impatiently.

 

Crowley's gaze flicked to Dean's right eye. It, like the rest of his right side, was marred and unnatural looking. Even after a century, some still mumbled protection spells or prayers when they felt Dean's stare upon them and were reminded of demons in children's fairy tales. "Of course not. We were just worried--"

 

"When I'm dead and gone, you can set curfews. Until then, keep your own counsel, or do something useful." Tossing his gloves over to Crowley, Dean strode toward the entrance. As he climbed the stone stairs, the double doors opened wide. He ignored the bowing servants as strode past them.

 

The hall was already lit, but more candles burst into flame, their light reflecting off the mirrors on the wall. Mirrors that Dean refused to look into anymore. And yet, he stubbornly refused to have them all destroyed or covered. And sometimes... sometimes he allowed them to show him the truth: the beauty of a life long past reflected on the left side of his face and upper body, and the frozen ugly scars of the present and the future reflected on the right side. 

 

*

 

He'd eaten in the room adjoining his large bedchamber, and he’d refused entertainment. Instead, he'd kept a bottle of fine brandy and was trying to drink himself into a state. No, he was trying to warm up the ice cold pit of his stomach. 

 

Striding to the windows, Dean pushed aside the heavy velvet curtains and looked down into the gardens. He could almost hear the music from that night, so long ago. See the guests mingling among the finely pruned bushes, and flowers, some walking off to the alcoves and pleasuring each other. It was not for nothing that Castica had been dubbed by some as _‘Sextica’_. 

 

Those had been the days. He'd worked hard, performing all the duties that fell on his shoulders as head of state, but he’d partied just as hard as he’d worked. Men and women easily fell into his bed, and it was not all because of his power and position, though that might have played a role. After-hours entertainment at the castle meant a trip to the velvet dungeons, where lovers played every manner of game imaginable. He'd often wielded a whip, or taken a partner who could not move, who could only plead for more. _More._ The plea had once sent pleasure and heat curling to his stomach. Now... now he felt nothing. Which was why he refused to participate in the after dinner entertainment, and allowed the others what measure of pleasure they could find. 

 

Lifting the bottle, Dean took a long drink, enjoying the temporary burn of the liquor which would dissipate too soon. "Ahh," wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand, Dean allowed his gaze to cut to a spot in the garden. Right there... right there, that was where he'd first met Patrick, or as it had become clear later, met him for the second time. He remembered… could see it so clearly.

 

_One hand pressed against the back of a raven haired beauty, Dean started to lead her out of the garden when someone called out to him._

_"Good evening, your Highness."_

_Stopping, Dean turned around and frowned slightly. "Yes?" He didn't recognize the man and he'd dismissed Crowley from his side, so Crowley couldn't fill him in._

_"I brought handcuffs," Patrick said, lifting a pair of gleaming cuffs._

_Dean's gaze flicked more slowly over him. "Perhaps some other night, when we're properly introduced."_

_"You don't remember me?"_

_Giving a curt shake of his head, Dean started to turn away._

_"The Tempest Inn. You said you wanted cuffs the next time. Dean--"_

_"Not tonight. I have a private party planned," Dean answered. "Leave your card with Crowley, you'll receive another invitation."_

_"I came a great distance. You... you told me to come, and now you, you pretend you don't remember me?" The cuffs dropped from Patrick's hand. "Just because I'm not highborn--"_

_"Enough. Don't leave your card," Dean ground out, walking away with the woman he was with._

_That night, there had been thunder and lightning, a storm unlike any other. It went on for three days, and then Patrick appeared in the middle of the dinner hall. His eyes were wild and angry. The instant the guards moved toward him, he put his hands out. An invisible force slammed the guards into the wall._

_Dean had magic, but nothing that could compete with the dark magic emanating from the witch, especially when he was unprepared for the confrontation. Sensing the gravity of the situation and for the first time, linking it to the terrible storms, Dean gave an order requiring every last person with magical powers to come to the hall. He stood up, started to talk to Patrick, to try to keep him occupied until the others showed up.  
Patrick didn’t wait. He didn’t give them a chance to assemble or to fight him. He pointed at Dean. "You're vain and ugly on the inside, and now you shall wear your ugliness on the outside, oh ‘fair prince’ of Castica. I curse you, I curse you, I curse you. Your sins will be visited upon your people, your followers, and your lands. I curse them, I curse them all. This curse shall not break, nor shall it be lifted, not unless you find someone to love you. Any who try to escape the curse by leaving Castica for more than half a day shall die a miserable death." _

_Patrick dropped to his knees. Darkness fell on the castle and across the lands. Every candle, every torch, every fire was snuffed out._

_Lightning struck, flashes of light revealing Dean screaming in agony, his hands on his face, and blood splattering around him._

_A cold wind swept through the castle, leaving behind ice and snow, but blanketing the rest of the land, outside the castle walls, in a permanent state of ice._

 

Dropping the curtains, Dean went to sit in front of the fire. For years, he'd nursed a flicker of a hope that the curse would break. His appearance scared his people, but after decades of seeing him like this, many felt at ease around him. The offers of bed sport were real, and at first, he'd engaged in play. But as time passed, he'd found he didn't feel anything, that going through the motions of sexplay satisfied nothing. So he started to watch the entertainment rather than take part in it, hoping to feel something, anything. As time wore on, a cold blossomed in his stomach, spreading until even watching others bored him. Or made him realize he would never find someone to love him. Who would love a man who could offer no pleasures of the bed? It was not unheard of, and yet, he knew how important the pleasures of the flesh had been to him. Nor could he offer his beauty, for one side of him looked like a creature stepping out of a nightmare. Besides, it hadn't happened yet with any of his subjects, and the number of outsiders arriving to the castle had dwindled to a handful a year. Word of the wraiths and the animals hunting in packs scared the curious, or those who would come from other Principalities to see if there was anything that might be traded with Castica. 

 

Sighing, Dean picked up the mirror tray by its handles, and brought it over his lap. He took another drink, then waved his hand across the surface of the mirror. It eased his boredom, to watch peoples from faraway lands. Their lives and problems, their freedom. 

 

*

 

The bottle was long since emptied and Dean's eyelids were heavy. His head dropped down as he nodded off, jerking him awake. Cursing, he gripped the handles of the mirror tray and got up. Dropping it onto his bed, he started to strip his clothes, clothes that were every bit as dark and somber as he felt on the inside. 

 

Pulling on a pair of dark gray silk pants, he climbed into the bed. Arranging the pillows behind him, and pulling the bed curtains closed so the morning light would not bother him, he settled back and waved his hand over the mirror tray again. Through bleary eyes, he watched a sleepy little town in a rural area. Moving two fingers over the surface of the mirror, he zeroed in on the people. "How quaint," he snorted, shaking his head at the suspender wearing men, and the women in long dresses and too-modest blouses. Castica might have appeared that way oh, five hundred years ago, but not anymore.

 

He watched the townspeople for a while, the children running around - a sight that was not common in Castica - and the wagons coming in and out of the town. Ah, there was the town bakery. Moving his fingers over the mirror, he could see the contents of the store through its windows. It looked like his mouth wasn't the only one to water at the sight of the baked goods. A youth was standing there, outside the shop, staring at the pastries and appearing to take in deep breaths of air.

 

Fully expecting the young man to go in, Dean cocked his head when he saw him pull some coins out of his pocket, count them, then turn away. Surely he'd had more than enough coin? 

 

The youth ran his hand through rich dark brown hair and licked his lips, before stepping off the wooden sidewalk in front of the stores, and onto the road. That small glimpse of his tongue had Dean sucking his breath in. Sensations. Feelings he hadn't had in over a century swept through him. The mirror slipped off his lap and he only just caught it before it went tumbling off the side of the bed.

 

His heart hammered in his chest as he waved his hand over the mirror again, and focused only on the youth. He appeared to be seventeen or eighteen. Tall and very well built. His clothes were worn, his britches torn and roughly mended. 

Hours later, Dean set the mirror tray onto the nightstand and pulled the curtains shut again. He wasn't sure if he'd get any sleep. He'd been exhausted, mostly due to the effects of the liquor, but now... now his blood was pounding through his veins and he felt _alive_. It was ridiculous. It meant nothing. It was just a fleeting thing. He'd been wishing hard, thinking about the times when he'd react and be excited by another's scent, another's touch or look. So, for a brief moment, he was recalling what that was like. It was the only explanation.

 

When he closed his eyes, the youth's face would not leave his mind. As he rolled over on his stomach, he started to imagine running after him, offering to share pastries in a field. Then they were kissing, kissing so hard Dean could barely breathe. He pinned the youth's wrists to the grassy ground and teased him mercilessly with half kisses and too gentle grindings of his hips. Soon he was hearing the pleas for more, feeling the youth thrash under him, and then, like a bucket of freezing cold water to his face, he remembered. The way he looked now, that youth would run from him screaming that he was a demon, or his planet's version of the devil.

 

Ripping the curtains open, Dean hollered for the servants to bring him more brandy.

 

* * *

 

Sam was the son of a farmer in the small village of Hamilton, in South Dakota. After his mother died in childbirth, it had fallen upon him to care for his newborn sister, Megan, while his father grieved his mother's passing. John and Mary Winchester had been madly in love, and her death had all but destroyed John.

From the day she was born, Megan was sickly. Doc Frank had been unable to diagnose the illness that took her energy and left her in bed for days at a time. She had always been frail, but as she grew, she tried with all her might to follow her older brother around and to help out. Usually that consisted of her sitting on a hay stack and talking his ear off, or _entertaining him,_ as he liked to call it. The description always brought a wide smile to her overly pale face. Her blond hair was much like their Momma's. Mary Winchester had been a lovely woman, and if Meg lived past her first few years, it was certain she would be too. But the news from Doc Frank was always the same, year after year, he had no idea if she would outlast the next winter. Perhaps it was pure stubbornness on her part that she clung to life, it had been said many a time that the Winchester's were a stubborn lot. If that was what kept her going, then Sam would pray every night for more stubbornness for all of them. After she outgrew all her clothes that their Ma had sewn before she had died, Sam got a part time job at the lumber mill. It helped to help pay for foodstuffs that they couldn't grow on their own, but needed desperately, like flour, seed for the fields, feed for the cows and horses, as well as other sundry items, clothing and medicine. He patched as much of their clothes as he could, but there would always come a time when there was more patch working than original material, and he would be forced to throw the item of clothing into the rag bin.

Sam didn't fool himself with dreams of love or schooling, he knew that despite their mother's wishes, he and Megan would never attend school. Not even the small school house on the hill that was taught by one of the local ladies with no more than a slight education herself. He could count money and knew how to read simple mailings, things that his Pa had taught him, but that was as far as his knowledge went. As for Meg, she didn't know the first thing about reading a single word and wasn't able to count past ten which was as far as Sam taught her in the small amounts of free time that he had these days.

John Winchester was a hardworking man who doted on his children as much as he was able. At night, however, the ghost of his deceased wife still tended to haunt his dreams. For that reason, more often than not, his children found him in the evenings, slumped over or passed out from drinking too much moonshine. It was a brew that he made himself so he could still drink himself into a dreamless oblivion, though he still managed to pay the bills and take care of his family. Proud, he had argued against Sam getting a job outside their farm. But the boy was stubborn too, pointing out that so long as he completed his chores at the house and farm, he could do what he wanted with his time. Thus John was stuck with accepting his son's financial aid.

Going into town was always a big deal for them, even though they tended to only go for church every Sunday, or to visit to Doc Frank's place for medicine and to the mercantile store for basic goods purchases. One of Sam's favorite places to go by was the bakery. It reminded him of the times back when his mother was alive and pregnant with Megan. Saving her pennies from the alteration work she accepted or from sales of vegetables she grew, she would take him to the bakery. They would have fresh slices of bread with thick creamy butter. They never got any pastries, for the cost was more than they could spare, but what they got was enough for Sam.

This morning, he had ridden into town with Pa and Megan. They’d come into town to get some supplies. He was dressed in his work clothes, as was Pa. Course there were only three reasons Pa ever dressed up: for weddings, funerals or church on Sunday. He claimed that to do more than that was vanity and ungodly, which was something no God fearing man ever wanted to be. Despite his father’s views, Sam couldn't seem to allow his little sister to go into town looking like anything other than the little princess. So he’d dressed Megan in her yellow dress and pulled her golden hair into pigtails, even curling the locks of hair into little ringlets.   
He'd left Megan and Pa at the mercantile and had jogged across the street to stand out in front of the bakery. Counting the few coins in his pocket, he’d come up too short to get even a slice of bread to split with his sister. 

"Ready ta go?" John called out, sitting in the loaded wagon with Meg, and squinting into the bright sun light .

Sam nodded, "Yes, sir," he mumbled as he walked around to the other side and climbed up into the front seat alongside his Pa.

As the wagon jerked forward, Megan held onto the side, the way her brother had taught her. The sun felt hot on her cheeks, almost too hot. Glancing over her shoulder at Sam and Pa, she noted thankfully that they weren't paying her any mind. Turning her attention away, she waited for the poppy fields. They were her favorite, always so bright and colorful. Maybe Sam would take her there later on in the week. He was away so much these days, she thought, her lower lip sticking out in a slight pout.

 

Her throat felt dry and scratchy and her forehead started to get clammy. Not again, please not again, she prayed, squeezing her eyes shut against the possibility. The last time she'd fallen ill, Doc Frank had ordered double doses of that icky cod liver oil along with other medicines that hadn't tasted much better. She'd fought to keep her mouth closed but Pa had been too strong. She could remember choking and thinking she couldn't breathe. And she'd been so hot. Sammy had tried to make it better with wet cloths on her face and forehead, and he'd begged her not to go. She didn't understand what he meant. She couldn't even get up to go to the water closet, let alone leave. And where would she go without her big brother anyway? Thoughts swirled in her mind along with colors. The brilliant colors of poppies. Slowly, Meg let the side of the wagon go and lay down on her back, staring at the clear azure sky, but not really seeing it.

The wagon swayed with the motion of the horses, Pa's stag and a filly that had been given to their Ma from her Pa on the day of her wedding. The two animals complimented each other, just as Mary and John Winchester had each other. Where one was mostly white with chestnut spots, the other was mostly chestnut with patches of creamy white decorating its backside. Sam's lips turned up in a wistful smile thinking about how his parents were sort of like that, while Mary had been a blue eyed blonde, like Meg, their father had dark hair and greenish blue eyes, much like himself. And where Mary was even tempered and kind, their Pa had a temper and a half though he tried not to show it around them. He wasn’t unkind, only more strict with his beliefs and crossing those beliefs usually brought about his temper. 

Sam sighed softly, he missed his mother. Thoughts of Mary always brought about thoughts of Megan and he glanced back over his shoulder, smiling softly when he saw her on her back watching the sky. He glanced up at the clouds a moment before looking back at his sister. "See the castle?" He asked. "That small cloud right there, doesn't it look like a castle?" 

 

Sam's voice broke through the haze. Meg blinked and blindly searched for his hand, reaching up and opening and closing her own hand. The effort to talk was too much to bear. 

 

Sam's brow creased with confusion, then his eyes shot wide open with panic. "Pa!" he shouted, standing to his feet despite the moving wagon. He climbed over the seat and into the back, crouching down next to his and holding her hand inside his much larger one.

"It's okay, Meg, it's gonna be okay," he soothed, brushing back the stray locks from her forehead with his free hand. "Pa and me, we're gonna take care of you," he promised. "Just don't leave me, princess," he begged, "Hold on."

Turning his head toward his Pa, the wagon having come to an abrupt halt when Sam had screamed, he shook his head at their father. "We need to get Doc Frank, Pa, fast."

 

John Winchester's demeanor changed. His brows furrowed into deep grooves and his shoulders sagged a little, even as he cracked the bridles and shouted, "Ha! Ha!" The horses pulled the wagon harder, moving into a full gallop. The wagon jerked from side to side, bouncing over stones and large holes in the road. Tugging on one side of the bridle, John had them turning onto another road at speeds that were far from safe. "Hold on, Sam," he called out, not taking his eyes off the road.

 

Meg struggled to keep her eyes open. Her head rattled against the floor of the wagon. She held tight to her brother's hand, trying to give him the smile she knew he wanted to see. 

Sam reached with his free hand for the side of the wagon, clinging to it keeping himself from falling over onto his sister as the buggy sped across the uneven trail. The ride to doc's house seemed longer than ever.

John pulled the wagon to a halt in front of the house and started calling for help even as he jumped off the buggy and headed to the side of the cart. "She's going to be fine, son," he told Sam, pushing his son's hands away and scooping Meg up into his arms. "Secure the horses," he said as he strode toward the front door.

 

He kicked the door open and called for the doctor again, then cursed. "Sam, they must already have left for church.” He knew the doc and his wife were in the choir and often practiced on Fridays. “Go fetch the doc." Making his way inside, he went into the side room that served as the clinic, and put his daughter down onto the bed.

 

Sam didn't want to secure the horses, he wanted to follow their father into Doc Frank's office and be there for Meg. He hadn't been able to be with their mother when she had passed due to the state she'd been in, and that fact still haunted him. His lips parted as he looked at his father through eyes wide with fright, but he didn't argue. Instead, he jumped out of the wagon, hand braced on the edge. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Sam was moving, securing the horses to the post, and running for the fence he’d climb over. He could make it to the church faster if he took a few short cuts.

* * * 

 

[Two Days Later]

 

Sitting alone on his throne in the Great Hall, Dean stared into the mirror on his lap. The young man he'd been obsessed with was near tears at his sister’s bedside. His father was in no better shape, though the man showed no sign of tears. All day long, neighbors and friends came to visit, bringing food and flowers. The useless town doctor had been at the house for long hours, and the pastor had come and gone several times as well. Now that the sun was dipping down into the horizon, the house had emptied of all but the dying child and the two men who loved her.

 

Dean drummed his fingers over the table. Was he about to be an opportunist or would he be doing something that had to be done, a chance that had to be taken to save his people? Watching the shaking shoulders of the youth, he decided it made no difference. Not to the young man who would play the pawn.

 

*

 

It was the dead of night when Dean materialized outside the door of the modest farmhouse. Dressed in black from his head to his booted feet, with a fine cloak that reached the backs of his knees, and an ample hood that covered most of his face from view, he looked markedly different from the residents of this world. Lifting his gloved hand, he firmly knocked the door. 

 

Sam's attention lifted from his sleeping sister. His brow creased slightly, wondering who could be paying their respects at this time of night. He glanced toward where their father sat slumped in a nearby chair, his soft snores filling the otherwise quiet of the room. John Winchester most likely would not have been sound asleep while his youngest child lay dying, were it not for the amount of moonshine he had ingested in an attempt to chase away memories of his beloved Mary laying weakly in their marital bed, slowly slipping away. 

Sam eased his hand out of his baby sister's and reached for the suspenders that he had allowed to slip off his shoulders, tugging them back up despite the fact that his shirt was a rumpled mess and half untucked from his trousers. Once he was presentable enough to answer the door, he walked around her bed and out of the small bedroom that they shared. 

Sam threw the small wooden lock back and tugged the sturdy front door open. He was certain the man standing there was not from around these parts, what with his strange and opulent clothes. His brow creased as he moved his gaze over the man shrouded from view by his hood. "Can I help you?" He asked.

 

The youth's voice was so sweet, so melodic. His handsome face pale and drawn, and it was clear he was doing his best to be courteous when all he really wanted to do was to be back at his sister's side. "Maybe. Or maybe I can be of help to you," Dean finally answered, his voice low and somewhat gruff. "May I come in?"

 

"Uh," Sam stammered, glancing back over his shoulder toward his sister's room before returning his attention to the stranger. He weighed his options, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

Reverend Turner always said to never turn away a stranger in need for you might be turning away an angel. Perhaps that was what this man dressed in strange clothing was, an answer to his prayers. 

"Are …are you...an angel?" he whispered, hope surging in his chest and tears stinging the corners of his eyes. "We don't have much....some eggs I made for Megan and some potatoes, but you are welcome to take it...just please, heal my sister," he begged softly. 

 

"Mind reader?" Dean cocked his head as he stepped inside, then turned to carefully look the youth over. He hadn't thought this planet boasted many with a magical bent, they had yet to discover the key to finding the powers within oneself.

"Oh no, sir," Sam muttered, shaking his head adamantly. "I would never do the devil’s work," he assured. 

His palms pressed against the smooth wood behind his back as Sam leaned against the closed door. He swallowed hard, eyes remaining fixed on the man. "Do you want to see her now or... or maybe after you eat?" Sam suggested. "I - I don't think there is much time," he rambled. "But..." he gave a soft nervous chuckle. "Being an angel I guess that doesn't really matter, does it?"

 

"I'm no angel. I'm not here to eat your food or to exchange pleasantries. Neither of us has the time for that," Dean said curtly, "I'm here to bargain." Seeing the last light of hope die out in the youth's eyes, Dean thought it would be best to get this over with as soon as possible. 

 

He walked to the open door to the bedroom and looked inside. "Wake him up," he said, nodding toward the man sleeping by the window, "He needs to hear this, be part of the decision."

Hearing that the strange man was not an angel, all the hope that had begun to take root in his chest died away, cruelly snuffed out like a candle. "No, we want nothing from anyone," Sam finally said, "This... my letting you in, it was a mistake.” He tugged open the front door. "I - I think you should go."

 

"I think you should mind your tongue," Dean retorted. "I walk out that door and you _will_ be burying your precious sister come morning.” He glanced at the front door, imposed his wishes on it. A force pulled the door away from Sam and slammed it shut. "Agree to what I offer, and I promise you, she will be dancing around this tiny house of yours like she was never sick, and she'll grow up, get married, and have children bouncing on her knee. Or... Open that door, I won't stop you again," he said, a hint of steel in his tone. 

 

Sam stared at the door, mystified as to how it had slipped from his grip and slammed closed on its own. His attention was slowly pulled from it to the man. Sam's throat convulsed as he swallowed hard yet again, wondering exactly how smart he had been to allow the stranger into their home. He gave a nod and pulled away from the door, then walked past the man, into the bedroom. 

Placing a hand on John's shoulder, he shook him gently. "Pa, there's a man here to see you."

John startled awake, his eyes widening as he gasped in a breath, "Megan!" he called out.

"Shhh, no Pa Meg's asleep.... there's a man here....I - I thought he was an angel but...he wishes to speak to you."

John Winchester pulled away from his son and rose to his feet, his eyes searching out and finding the man in question. Stepping over to the man, John gave a nod in greeting. "John Winchester," he introduced himself. "What can me and my boy do for you, eh....mister?" He asked, sizing the stranger up.

 

Dean felt the man's gaze linger on his face and wondered how much of it showed. He doubted either of them saw what he looked like, or they'd be reacting more strongly. "John," he nodded at the man and looked at his son, waiting for the introduction to the son, one that didn't come.

 

Pressing his lips together in displeasure, Dean looked back at the older man. "You seem like a man who prefers plain speaking, and there isn't time to beat around the bush anyway. Your daughter is dying. I have a cure. You have something I want." 

John's eyes widened slightly and his brows rose as he turned his head and looked over at his son. 

Sam's eyes mimicked his father's and his wide eye gaze locked on John's. "Pa?" He murmured softly. 

John returned his attention to the stranger, his eyes narrowed with distrust as he looked the man over. "What are you, some sort of doctor or somethin'?" He inquired. "Doc Frank says there's nothin' we can do...keep 'er comfortable..." He wasn’t about to get his hopes up only to have them shattered. 

 

"I could tell you the truth, but you wouldn't believe me." Dean looked over at the child in the bed. "Or I could cure her right now and show you. Then it'll be up to you whether you take my offer." From a few yards away, he lifted his hand, pointing his palm toward the child. Summoning his powers was hard because he'd spent a lot of it traveling this distance. Heat rushed down his arm to his palm and his head rocked back slightly. 

 

Megan suddenly opened her eyes and took an audible breath. She pushed herself up and started throwing the bed clothes off. "Daddy, I'm thirsty and I want my candy and--" It was clear she'd clammed up upon seeing him, a stranger, in her house. 

 

"Two minutes to confirm she's fine, then I'll expect you to come and complete this bargain," Dean said, walking out of the room and going to stand near the dying fire in the living room.

 

Sam's heart lurched in his chest. He rushed across the room, crouched and threw his arms around Megan. Burying his face against the side of her neck, he wept softly, so very thankful that she was better, that she was whole, healed, that she was _alive_. 

John Winchester couldn't believe his eyes, his frail ailing daughter looked more alive than he had ever seen in all six of her years walking this Earth. Tears stung his own eyes but he blinked them back and walked out, to the stranger by the fireplace. "I don't know whether you are an angel or a demon, but whatever you are, I thank you for saving her," he said in a low voice, his eyes studying the strange man. 

 

"I am neither of those things, and she's not saved. Not unless I say so. You have one more minute to complete this bargain." Dean stared right back at the man, not giving him any quarter. 

 

John sighed heavily in resignation, "Demon, then," he concluded with a nod. "What is your price?" He asked, although he was reluctant to hear it.

 

"Your son." Dean saw the man’s flinch, noticed his eyes go suddenly bright with unshed tears and emotions. "Your son for your daughter. They both get to live, have full lives. He can visit for three days at the end of each year that he is with me. And... I will leave you ten pieces of gold. More than enough to give your daughter everything her heart desires." 

John sniffed and turned his head, looking back at his children. "My son's soul for my little girl to live," he said in whispered anguish. "Where will you take him? What will become of him there...with you?" He questioned.

“I will take him to my castle. His every need will be cared for. He'll have servants, food, clothing, shelter, access to all manners of learning. He will answer to no one save me.” Following John’s gaze to the bedroom, where his son was making much of his daughter, then looking back and seeing the man working his jaw, Dean raised his hand up. "No more questions. Do we have a deal?"

"I..." John began only to clamp his mouth closed. Turning his head again toward his children, he watched Meg's smiles, her laughter squeezing his heart in a tight vise. "Yes," he whispered brokenly. “Yes, we have a deal. But if you ever harm him...I love my son, you have no idea..."

 

"In a year's time, you will see I don't break my promises." Digging into a pocket sewn into the inner lining of his cloak, Dean retrieved the gold pieces and set them down on the mantle. "Don't be hasty," he warned, knowing the man wanted nothing to do with the exchange of money. "You will need it, to hire someone to do the work your son was doing, and to make a good life for your daughter."

 

Walking to the front door, he turned. "Don't keep me waiting long," he said, then walked out into the night.

 

Sam glanced up from where he'd been laughing and talking playfully with his sister, celebrating her recovery. His smile slowly melted as his gaze darted between the closed door and his father. Lowering his attention back to Meg, he reached out and tickled her ribs once more before pulling to his feet.

"Stay right there, princess," he murmured, "I'll be back."

Walking into the living room, he looked into his father's troubled eyes. "Something is wrong...did he...Is he taking back the miracle?"

John Winchester shook his head. "No, he wants an impossible payment," he whispered, throat tightening. He tried to clear it as he stepped away from his son and over to the small dinner table, grasping the back of one of the chairs.

 

Sam's eyes widened, they didn't have much but he’d give anything to see Meg healed now and forever. "Then pay it, whatever he wants," Sam he insisted.

"I did," John replied, shame, anger, frustration, all of it washing over him at once. “It’s you," he whispered. "He wants you as payment."

Sam gasped, eyes widening in horror. His attention darted to the closed door and back to his father incredulously. "For what?" He asked, "Does he want me to tend his land or build him a house?"

John shook his head, "I dunno..."

"You - you gave me to a man and you don't even know what he wants with me!?" Sam shouted. 

Megan's attention snapped to her brother and she quickly ran to her brother's side, throwing her arms around Sam's leg, holding him tightly. 

"No, my bubba can't go," she pleaded, "He has to stay here with me."

"Megan," John sighed as he lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. 

"Do I get to come back home? When do I go?" Sam continued to question. 

John again shook his head, "I don't know," he replied gently. 

"Did you find out anything of my fate?" Sam spat fearfully. He couldn't believe that his father had all but sold him off and yet knew nothing of what was to become of him. Surely Megan needed to be saved, but at what price? 

Not for the first time, John Winchester wished he'd passed on with his wife. "He said you could come back to visit in a year. He's not exactly talkative." Running his hand over his face, he looked at his son. "I'll tell him the deal is off. Offer myself," he said. His gaze dropped to Megan. He whispered a soft prayer, then turned to go after the mysterious stranger. 

Sam looked at his sister, her cheeks flushing with health, and shook his head. “No, Megan has already lost one parent, she doesn't need to lose you too. I'll go."

"No," Megan whimpered. 

Sam crouched down next to his sister, taking her in his arms. "It's okay, Meg, I'll be back," he vowed. "You need to be a good girl for Pa while I'm gone," he instructed, "Remember everything I taught you," he coached with a nod. "It's gonna be up to you now to take care of Pa just like he'll take care of you, alright?" 

Megan sniffed, tears causing her bright blue eyes to shimmer in the low light. "But I don't want you to go." 

Sam smiled sadly, "I know, princess," he allowed gently before pulling his sister into a hug, "I know."

The front door was wrenched open and slammed against the wall, held there by an invisible force.

"Bastard," John grit out, walking over to his son and daughter and embracing them both. He held his son close, hardly able to believe this was being asked of him. His son, for his daughter. If he didn't agree, one would die. 

"I love you son," he said, for the first time in a decade. 

Pulling himself together, he started to pull Meg away, but she was clinging so hard to Sam that he had to tear her away. He closed both arms around her as she kicked and screamed, "Sam. Saam! I wanna come with you. Sam!" John slowly backed away with his child still trying to get away from him. "I'm proud of you son. I don't mean for this, I mean for all that came before. Think it's about time I told you. Godspeed," his voice broke. 

 

Tears stung Sam's own eyes, both at what his father was saying, words he'd never thought he'd hear the man utter, and at the way his sister was desperately reaching for him. He nodded at the man and sniffed, "I love you, too. Both of you." 

As he walked out the door, Sam heard his sister scream his name and he almost didn't have the will to make his legs move. He forced his feet to move, closing the door softly behind him, unwilling to have his sister see them as they rode away. 

He crossed over to where the stranger stood and paused beside him. "You've got what you wanted," he remarked softly, words lacking any emotion at all. 

Despite everything, despite being forced to leave his family Sam couldn't find it in his heart to hate this man, not when he had saved his baby sister's life. For that fact alone he vowed to himself that he would do whatever the man asked of him. He wasn't afraid of manual labor and he was a quick study, all the man had to do was show him what he wanted and Sam could learn whatever needed to be done. 

"And you, Sam. You got what you wanted," Dean said almost matter of factly, turning around to face him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Think of it as an adventure." Dean hadn't been exaggerating about there being no time for small talk or to try to cajole the youth into a better frame of mind. "Come, put your arms around me and don't let go, no matter what." His voice was cool and aloof, but his blood was running hot with thoughts that would send Sam running back to his father. 

Sam lifted his eyes to the man's hooded features. Why was he to hold onto the man? Shouldn't they be climbing into the man's wagon or upon his horse? Lowering his eyes to the man’s waist, he swallowed hard. Hesitantly, he took a step forward and reached for the man. He glanced back up at the man before lowering his gaze once more and swiftly wrapping his arms around the man's waist. “Now what?”

"Now you hold me tighter, like the wind is about to rip you away, not as if I'm some delicate porcelain doll." 

Sam's eyes widened as he lifted his head, looking up at the dark shadows of the man's face. Tighter? Why was he to hold him tighter? There was no wind and it was improper for him to press his body against a man's for no reason. 

Since Sam didn’t jump to his command, Dean closed his own arms around him, drawing him up hard against his frame. He could feel every hard plane of Sam's body pressing into his. He inhaled Sam's scent. It was intoxicating. A tremble ran through Dean. It had been long, so long since anyone had stirred his loins like this. "I said tighter," he snapped, his voice sounding strained.

Sam gasped. The stranger had no business holding him like this, so that every point of the line of his body was touching the man’s. At the man's harsh tone, Sam did as commanded and clung to the man for all he was worth. "Please," he whispered, both confounded and fearful. 

"Please what?" Dean cupped the side of Sam's face and slowly started to dip his head toward him. A kiss. He craved it so bad. Once, in the distant past, he'd be sure that his kiss would not garner a horrified response from the person he bestowed it on. Today... if his hood fell back... 

Sam's lips parted, but he was unable to formulate a response without fear of insulting the man. Then the man cupped his face, a gesture he had only seen his mother do to his father before kissing him, and that had Sam clamping his mouth closed, his eyes widening with trepidation. 

"Just hold on," Dean ordered, moving his head back just as suddenly as he’d brought it near. Cupping Sam’s ass with both hands, he closed his eyes and started to concentrate on the magic that flowed through his own veins. 

Electricity crackled around them, the wind starting to whip up. Suddenly wrenched from the warmth, the went hurtling through cold and clammy space, moving so fast that all they could see were lights streaking past them. 

One moment, Sam was praying for divine intervention, and the next, he was cold, his threadbare clothes giving him no protection. He didn’t understand the temperature change. Perhaps this was indeed a demon and he had been whisked away to the bowels of a frozen hell. Shivering, he actually clung tighter to the demon, more afraid of falling deeper into the pit than of this monster carrying him there. 

Speech was impossible during travel; breathing was hard enough, even though Dean put extra effort into blanketing the both of them with more oxygen than he normally would. He felt Sam shiver and started to caress him, rubbing heat into his body. It was a good thing Sam wasn't psychic, because if he could have read his thoughts, Dean was sure he would have pushed away and risked getting lost in eternity. 

Sam was afraid to move. He could scarcely breathe, it was as though the oxygen had been sucked out of the world. Shivering harder, he tucked his face down and prayed. _Please God, make it stop. Make it stop._

Dean's body tensed in response to Sam's trembling. He shifted slightly, his eyes closing as his erection pressed more firmly against Sam's thigh. He couldn't wait to show Sam the pleasures of the flesh. Oh, he'd bet Sam would look beautiful in cuffs, looking at him with those expressive eyes, burning for his every touch. Dean's interest in sexual recreation had definitely been rekindled by this slip of a boy, and it was a miracle. 

Time sped past them, though it felt to Sam like he’d stood there for hours in the biting cold, tucked into the arms of this strange man. He dared not move or breathe too deeply for fear that he might become pressed even more firmly against the man, and he definitely was not going to acknowledge the hard press against his thigh. He told himself it was something of the man's strange attire, but still it did not alleviate the desire to run away screaming. He tried to picture his sister, grown and happy with a family of her own someday. That thought alone strengthened him somewhat, the knowledge that he was doing this for his beloved sister, so that he would not lose her as he’d lost their mother.

They were suddenly snatched out of the travel stream and the wind cut out. As their feet touched the frozen ground, Dean didn't relinquish his hold on Sam; not for a long moment. 

"Are you steady?" he asked, cursing when he saw they were outside the castle walls, instead of inside. Space travel required a lot of power, and with a passenger, it was that much harder. Besides, he'd been distracted.

Searching inside his cloak, he pulled out a curved dagger, then grabbed Sam's wrist. "Move," he said, taking long strides toward the gates of the castle wall, his gaze moving back and forth, searching for signs of movement. 

Sam's eyes snapped open when the man finally released him, his earlier words not completely registering because he’d been daydreaming about the full life his sister would now lead. He gasped in a soft breath seeing the dagger in the man's hand, but when, instead of killing him with it, the stranger simply grabbed his hand and told him to move, Sam did not argue. He raced alongside the man, toward the castle that had come out of nowhere. 

Their breaths misted in the freezing air. Their boots pounded on the hard ground, frost and snow crunching as they ran. When they neared the gates, a few torches were raised up, then the gates opened for them. As soon as they were inside, the gates lowered. "I need a horse," Dean called out.

A moment later, one of the warriors guarding the gate led a horse over to them, gawking at the newcomer. 

"And a blanket," Dean said. "Go on, mount up," he ordered Sam, both of them still breathing hard from their run. 

Shivering with cold, Sam's eyes were wide with shock and disbelief but he did as the man told him and quickly swung his leg up and over the horses back. 

One of the men threw the blanket around Sam's shoulders, then Dean mounted behind Sam. The horse started to walk backwards, whinnied, and then turned when Dean tugged on the bridle. He dug his heels in, and the horse started to trot, gaining speed as they headed up the road, this time riding through the edge of town before heading toward the castle itself.

He had half a mind to slow down and enjoy the feel of Sam pressing back against him, but decided it would be best to get Sam settled in. When they pulled up in front of the castle, he dismounted. Several servants spilled out of the doors and Crowley was already waiting for them.

"So this is him?" Crowley seized the young man up, giving a snort when he saw that instead of allowing Dean to help him off the horse, the young man scrambled off himself. "Well it's an honor to meet you, young master..."

"Sam," Dean supplied. "This is Crowley. He's the keeper of the castle, if you have any questions or needs, he'll be sure they're taken care of. Are his rooms ready?"

"Yes, your highness."

"We'll want a hot meal." Dean put a hand behind Sam's back and started to walk him toward the stairs to the large front doors.

Sam blinked repeatedly as he tried to take in everything going on around him as well as all the new people that he saw. He had no idea how they’d gotten here, he and the strange man hadn't even gotten on a horse or in a carriage until now. Nevertheless, here they were...wherever _here_ was. 

He glanced at the short man called Crowley and gave a nod, quickly lowering his eyes shyly. Before he knew it, he was being ushered inside by the stranger, though he was thankful that he had heard the words 'his rooms.' The fact that he was going to be given his own area, a place to be by himself gave him some semblance of hope, and helped to slightly calm his frayed nerves. 

The dim torchlights along the wall roared to life, magically growing brighter as they walked down the long hallway. The walls were covered with paintings and tapestries and dotted with elaborate candle chandeliers dripping with shining crystal. 

"Highness, highness, your highness..."

Everyone they passed bowed their heads or curtsied and moved out of their way. 

"We'll dine in the blue salon," Dean told one of the servants. "Have a table brought in." He wanted an intimate dinner, which would be impossible in one of the formal dining rooms. 

Dean could have had a servant show Sam to his suite of rooms, but he didn't. They walked deeper into the castle, then up the stairs to the second story. They passed many rooms, some open public rooms and some bedchambers. 

"Over on the left is my personal wing,” Dean motioned as they walked Noticing Sam’s shell shocked expression, he paused. "You're still cold? It’s from the travel, it will wear off," he promised stopping in front of gold engraved white double doors. Pressing the lever handle, he opened the door and gestured for Sam to walk through. "These are your rooms," he said, stepping inside after him.

The bedchamber was enormous and very richly furnished. The windows had a view of the gardens. "Sitting room, reading room, bathing and privacy chamber," Dean announced. The collection of rooms was at least twice the size of Sam's former home. 

Sam's mouth moved as he turned to look back at the man after he'd stepped inside like he had been directed. "I...but..." he clamped his mouth shut and swallowed hard, his eyes once again moving over the room, and the doors leading to other rooms, with wonder. 

Turning to the stranger, Sam shook his head. "But I don't need...my home was smaller than all this and I shared it with three others," he argued then clamped his mouth closed, his gaze lowering dejectedly, "Well, two others," he corrected himself softly. 

Lifting his gaze once more to the man he licked his lips nervously and looked toward the windows briefly before returning his attention to the stranger. "What..." he cleaned his throat, "What is it that you want me for? "I don't know how to read much or write, but I do know how to build things and I am not afraid to do manual labor...I am strong and...." he rambled, hoping against hope that he had not blown his sister's miracle healing with the news that he lacked an education. 

"You're everything I _want_ ," Dean answered, his gaze traveling slowly over Sam, from his face down his body, and back again. "Maybe, just maybe, you're also what I need. What we all need." He gave a bitter chuckle, knowing it was just a flight of fancy. The servants and castle dwellers, even the town people that lived within the castle walls, they had all of their hopes pinned on this. 

"Change your clothes, choose what you like from the wardrobes, then come into my chambers, through here. Don't take too long," he admonished, then strode to the double doors that lead to his adjoining chambers, leaving them open behind him. 

Sam wasn't exactly certain what the man, Dean, meant when he had said that he was everything that he wanted and perhaps needed. He was still pondering about it but had to push the thoughts aside to listen to the man’s orders. He nodded dumbly, watching as the man left, then looked curiously down at the clothes he was wearing, wondering what might be wrong with them, other than the fact that they were a bit wrinkled. He straightened his clothes out and tucked his shirt in a little better. 

Lifting his head, his gaze lingered on the open doors leading to the man's bedchamber before he tore it away and hurried over to what looked like an expensive homes’ closet. Hell it was a castle, just like he use to tell Meg she would live in one day, so why wouldn't it have a rich person’s closet? 

He threw open the doors, a wide smile curving his lips and brightening his face, though the smile slowly melted away in awe as he looked at the clothes that hung within the wardrobe. The bright vibrant hues of blues and greens surprised him but he rather expected the rich reds and deep purples that he also found mixed in among them since they seemed to be royal tones. He reached in tentatively with one hand, feeling the material of one of the pieces, which was black in color and seemed to be made to cover the entire body, from feet to neck. He had never felt any material like it before but something in his gut tightened and twisted and he quickly released it opting instead to reach for a dark blue set of trousers and a lighter blue shirt with billowing sleeves.

Pulling them out, he glanced back toward the doors leading into the strange man's room. He could see glimpses of the man as he moved about and knew that it was likely the same from the stranger's end so he quickly took the clothes with him to an adjoining room which was not visible the stranger. 

Tossing the clothes he planned to change into down, he reached for his suspenders and pulled them from his shoulders then pulled his shirttail out of his pants, despite having just tucked it in. Grabbing the hem, he pulled the shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside. Next he reached for the ties of his trousers, unfastening them. He kicked off his shoes and wiggled out of his pants, tossing the threadbare material aside. Reaching for the dark rich blue pants he’d had found in the wardrobe, lips curling into a grin of excitement, he quickly stepped into them and pulled them up.

*

Having changed into leather pants and a mesh polo neck top, Dean grabbed one of his hoods and secured it in place. Seeing that Sam was dawdling, he strolled into Sam's chambers and found him inside the dressing chamber, staring into a full length mirror and tugging mercilessly at his shirt. The jeans clung to Sam's ass, as if they were tailored for him, and the silk shirt left him bare chested up to a point just above his navel. 

In a few long steps, Dean stood right behind Sam and curled his arm around his waist as he leaned in and brushed his mouth along the side of Sam’s neck. "I knew you'd look amazing out of your clothes," he whispered, his voice low and raspy, seductive. His fingers slipped upwards, skimming over Sam's bare flesh.

Sam froze as arms wrapped around him from behind. His gaze lifted to the man's image in the mirror as he stood behind him. He swallowed hard and then started to squirm within the man's grasp when he lowered his mouth to the side of his neck. 

"Aah," he grunted, "Stop, please," he muttered. 

He started to release the sides of his shirt to be able to push the man’s hands away, but saw that the shirt was springing back up to show more skin. Hurriedly he grabbed the sides of the shirt, pulling it closed again.   
"I - I think there's a few buttons missing," he stammered, lifting his gaze to the man's in the mirror once more. 

He suddenly thought of what he'd said and quickly tried to correct it, not wanting to offend him for fear he would take Megan’s health away for his trespass. "I - not that I mind, I mean, I can fix it. I can mend clothes," he said in a rush. 

"Leave it. The buttons aren't missing, it's the fashion. There isn't enough material to button it up higher, anyway," Dean noted, without allowing even a little space between them. "You're blushing." He caressed Sam's chest, lightly exploring it. "Don't worry, you'll get used to this. You must be hungry after our long journey."

Sam wiggled again in the man's hold, wanting free, wanting the man's hands off him. This wasn't done. First off, it was a man. Secondly, touching like this was done only after you were married. He knew this from his Sunday school lessons. 

Clearing his throat Sam nodded, hoping it would cause the man to release him. "May we go?" He beseeched. "I - I mean, eat," he clarified, a blush staining his cheeks anew as he dropped his gaze to the floor.

"I can satisfy your _every_ hunger. Even those you don't know about yet," Dean promised. "I'll give you a taste after dinner." Finally releasing Sam, he took his hand, this time threading his fingers through Sam's. Slowly, he raised their joined hands up and deliberately kissed the back of Sam's hand. 

Sam wasn't sure what the man meant. Hunger for what? Riches, luxury? He decided that perhaps it was best not to think about it. He’d definitely decided that he didn't want a taste of whatever the man was offering after they'd had supper. 

At the unexpected touch of the stranger’s lips, Sam’s gaze snapped towards the man, a soft gasp escaping his lips as he stared wide eyed into the man’s hooded features. He noticed that even though the man had changed his clothes, he wearing something much less appropriate. 

"I - I did not realize it was time to change into our bedclothes," Sam muttered softly, deciding that it surely must be what the man had on, it was the only time he had ever seen his Pa shirtless; that is unless they went for a dip in the pond anyway.

He gently tugged at his hand in an attempt to pull it from the man's, fear and trepidation curling in the pit of his stomach. Instinctively thinking he ought to try to change the subject, he asked the first thing that had been plaguing his mind. "Why do you always hide behind the hood?"

Refusing to release Sam, Dean answered dragged him out of the chambers and truthfully. "To spare you from seeing me as I am. Now you answer my question." They headed for the large oval staircase and started to descend. "How long will it take for you to learn to like my home. To like me?" 

Sam's brow knitted, "I - I don't understand. I - I like you...you...you healed my sister," he reasoned with a shrug. 

"You like me," Dean repeated, his tone reflecting his doubts that Sam's affections were so easily bought. It was much more likely that Sam was being cautious or was afraid to tell the truth. However, Dean had no intention of questioning him further at the risk of getting an answer he did not like. "Good. And you'll like your new home soon," he said as if the matter were settled. 

They reached the hall, passed the ballroom and then entered a small but elegant salon furnished in dark blue hues. A friendly fire roared in the fireplace and a small table had been brought in for them to dine on. Dean pulled a chair out for Sam and gestured for him to sit. 

Sam didn't argue with anything that the stranger said and kept his head bowed. Not wanting to get into any sort of trouble, he obediently sat.  
He tugged at the front of his shirt again, trying to get it to at least lay a little closer together so that he wasn't baring his bare chest to the world. 

Dean nodded at the servant standing near the door and the man immediately gestured to several others behind him. Within the span of a few moments, they had napkins placed across their laps, their plates were filled with all manners of delicacies and each had three glasses of varying shapes filled with colorful drinks in front of them. The aroma of the succulent meats had Dean's stomach growling. 

"This," Dean said, pointing to the shortest glass filled with a yellow drink, "is a Castican specialty. It's very refreshing, and usually had before a meal. It stimulates the appetites. _All_ of the appetites, but don't worry, I will take care to make sure you're very satisfied. This second one," he pointed at the flute filled with a sky blue drink, "Is a sweet liquor, and the last is wine, which you should be familiar will. Let's start with the Magdalina." Lifting his own glass, he stared at Sam, waiting for him to lift his glass.

Sam's gaze rose to the man as he spoke, knowing that it was bad manners not to look at someone who was addressing you. His gaze flickered briefly to the glasses before him and his brow creased, perplexed at what the man was implying when it came to his appetites. He decided to shake it off not wanting to anger the stranger for fear that he might take back that which he had given to his sister, health and wellbeing. His throat convulsed as he swallowed hard and turned his wide eyed gaze to the goblet in which the man had indicated for him to partake of. 

Without lifting the goblet he returned his attention to the man and shook his head demurely, "I - I've never had wine. I've never even seen..." his words trailed off. Under the stranger’s scrutiny, he lifted the glass filled with the yellow drink. 

Dean lightly touched his glass to Sam's. "Drink it all down at once," he said, lifting his own glass to his lips and slowly downing the slightly spicy drink before setting his glass down and staring at Sam.

Sam's lips parted with the intent to argue that he had never had it, that he would rather simply try a taste, but then he remembered that all he did, he did for Megan. His nose wrinkled slightly at first as the sting of the drink, but as ordered, he gulped it all down. He found that he didn’t dislike it, but grew fond of the warmth that the drink seemed to create in his veins, and the feeling rushing to every part of his body. 

Lowering the glass, he stared back in silence at the stranger, wondering at the way the man was looking at him, though he could feel the lids of his eyes begin to droop despite not feeling sleepy. The warmth that infused his veins seemed to stir his skin to hypersensitivity, the short soft hairs of his arms standing on end and his nipples immediately pebbling despite not feeling chilled. 

A thrill ran through Dean as he watched the changes in Sam... The way his eyes grew a little unfocused, the way his pupils dilated and his skin grew a little flushed. It was exactly how he imagined Sam would look, spread out in his bed, a slave to the desires of his body. Without thought, Dean rose and closed the distance between them, slanting his mouth firmly over Sam's and pushing his tongue insistently along the seam of Sam's lips. He didn't care whether Sam's lips parted to ask a question or for any other reason, only that that they parted for him. Without hesitation, he swept his tongue inside, moaning softly as the desire he'd felt while watching Sam in the mirror doubled and tripled in intensity. For a man with all of his experience, he wasn't sure which of them was more shaken by the kiss when he sat back down. "Do you have any questions?" he practically purred in his raspy voice.

When the stranger first stood and came towards him, Sam wasn't sure what he’d done wrong, but he knew something was amiss. Perhaps the stranger had noticed the way his body had reacted and was about to chastise him for such a display. His eyes widened when instead of a reprimand for his indecency, the man crushed his lips against his own. Sam tried to speak, to cry out his insistence that the man stop, only to wind up having the stranger's tongue slide into his mouth. His eyes slipped closed and then squeezed tightly together against the strange feelings that ricocheted though his body. He struggled against the man's hold, hands lifting to his shoulders to push against them, heart hammering out a wild rhythm in his chest. When the stranger finally ended the kiss, he stared dumbly at him. 

The question took Sam aback as millions of questions spun through his mind. He tried to pick at least just one and found himself unable to settle on more than nearly a half dozen. 

"What - What is your name? Why did you just…?" his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of scarlet, "Kiss me?" he murmured, tongue darting out to lick across his slightly swollen lips. “Did you poison me? What's wrong with me? What do you want from me?" He rambled on. 

Dean wasn't sure whether to be amused or insulted. Perhaps it was irrelevant and the only thing that truly mattered was that he was actually reacting to Sam, his gut tightening upon seeing the man’s tongue sweep across his lips. "Eat. We can talk and eat at the same time," he pointed out, picking up his knife and fork. 

"I'm Dean. I was wondering when you'd get around to asking," he said pointedly. 

Sam ducked his head sheepishly at Dean's words then repeated his name aloud, "Dean," he said, rolling the name around on his tongue and in his mind and deciding that he liked it, at least he liked it a lot more than ' _Stranger_ '. 

"As for poisoning you, did I just poison myself as well?" He motioned for the servant to refill their glasses. Once they moved away, he asked, "Do you want me to do it again, kiss you?"

Sam could see the reasoning in what the man was saying, but it didn't alleviate the trepidation that he felt deep in his belly regarding the man. At Dean's next question Sam quickly shook his head and muttered a quick "No thank you." He really wanted to ask why Dean had kissed him, but was afraid to, afraid of learning the answer.

"You didn't enjoy it, then?" Strangely disappointed, Dean looked down at his plate and cut some more meat. "Eat." 

Sam gave a nod and slowly lifted his gaze, daring to peek at Dean from the corner of his eye as he reached for his own knife and fork. "Are...are you angry?" He inquired so softly that even he wasn't sure he was heard. 

"No." Dean finally looked up, swallowed his food, and added. "A little disappointed. I thought you'd be more open to... adventure. Never mind. You'll learn. And you, are you afraid?"

Sam lowered his gaze to his plate. He didn't answer for a long while, only pushing his potatoes around his plate. Finally, at long last he nodded, answering the man truthfully. "Are you...disappointed in me?" Lifting his eyes to the man's he pleaded, "Please don't take my sister's healing away, I’ll do better.”

"Sam." Dean waited until Sam was forced to meet his gaze. "I don't break my deals. As long as you stay here, with me, I will not take back my gift." He didn't mention the fact that Sam had no way of leaving him, he'd find out their circumstances soon enough. He certainly couldn't go all the way home to his planet since he didn't have the means, and getting to the other principalities would be an almost impossible feat for someone who didn't know the geography and how to avoid or fight off the wraths and beasts. "Now, why are you afraid of me. Have I not given you shelter, a suite of rooms, clothing, food...." he pointed to the heavily laden table. "Have I done violence to you?"

"No sir," Sam responded swiftly, eyes wide. "I just...I don't understand," he confessed. "What…? Why am I here? Am I to be your son?" 

"Are you calling me old?" Dean asked, this time amused both at the idea and by the fact that despite the looks of things, he really was ancient, "Or... do fathers on your planet kiss their sons the way I kissed you?" Chuckling, he took another bite of his food.

"No!" Sam gasped, eyes wide and immediately feeling as though he needed to apologize for his innocent slip. But something caught his attention. "Planet? I don't understand..." he muttered, feeling completely at a loss, "What is a...planet?"

It was becoming clearer to Dean that not only was Sam naive or sheltered, but he was not well schooled. He wasn't certain if this was because of economics or whether it was a common state of the people from his planet. 

"I don't know what you call your home planet, but when you stood outside in the night, you saw many stars in the sky, right? Stars are other planets. If you think of how far the furthest of the stars you saw was from your planet, we are hundreds of times farther than that," Dean explained, though he was inaccurate for simplicity's sake. ”There are lots of tutors in the castle, on every subject you can imagine. Once you're settled in, you can decide if you want to take advantage of that." 

Sam stared agape, he wasn't certain at first if the man was merely joking or mad. After a moment, his lips slowly curled into a wide smile, cheeks dimpling as laughter bubbled out. "You're funny," he responded as his laughter slowly ebbed, lips still curved into a wide smile.

He returned his attention to his plate and began to cut the meat and stabbing it with his fork, popped a large piece into his mouth, cheeks puffing out as he chewed.

"Yes, I've been told I have a great sense of humor. And I'm a good lover," Dean threw in, studying Sam. 

Sam's jaw stopped in mid-motion and he turned his head, eyes wide as he stared at the man, his own face flushing a brilliant shade of red. 

"You don't... ah... doubt me, do you?" Dean asked. "I could prove it, if you need proof."

Sam's eyes widened further to the point that was near comical, his mouth fell open further and a chunk of meat fell out and flopped onto the table with a dull thud. The sound drawing Sam's attention and had him quickly reaching for the meat with his hand and shoving it back into his mouth with his fingers before he returned his attention to Dean. "Are you...?" Sam began only to stop, a tentative smile curling his lips slightly, "You're kidding," he concluded with a chuckle. 

"You," Dean said, pointing at him, "Have a great smile. Seriously irresistible." Playing with the stem of his glass, he lifted the magdalina to his lips, hoping Sam would do the same. 

Sam's smile remained, confident now that the man had simply been toying with him. He blushed a bit more at the compliment that Dean bestowed upon him and turned his attention back to the food in front of him. He began to eat with gusto, munching on every item offered to him. He didn't bother with anything more to drink however, uncertain about the substances. He would have loved a glass of water or milk but since none was offered him, he knew it was impolite to ask. Still, he made due with the food that he'd been given and was pleasantly surprised that every new bite seemed tastier than the last.

As they ate, Dean kept up a steady flow of conversation, telling Sam about all that the castle offered. He gave him the names of the servants and castle dwellers, both noble and common, who could show him around, amuse him or teach him. "After dinner, you will meet some of my, and now your, friends," he said. 

When the servants started to clear the table of the main courses, Dean moved his chair next to Sam and put his hand lightly on his thigh. "You really should finish at least your Magdalina. Dessert... _both_ desserts will be all the sweeter, I promise you," he said, drinking more of the wine.

Sam's brow knitted again in confusion and as he licked his lips and sucked his fingers clean, he regarded Dean questioningly. "What…?" he began then paused to suck a finger clean of meat juice, "What do you mean by _both_ desserts? We are having more than one?" 

"Of course." The next time Sam dipped his finger into the sauce, Dean grabbed Sam's wrist and slowly drew his hand closer, then licked his finger clean. He wanted to do more, wanted to suck on it, wanted to pull Sam into his arms right now and kiss him, but he resisted his urges. "Drink for me. Please," he whispered.

Sam's eyes widened as he watched the man lick his finger clean of the meat juice. His throat convulsed as he swallowed hard and his stomach tightened in a knot. His mouth moved but no sound came out at first until he cleared it rather loudly. "Why...?" He started, only to stop himself again and reach for the goblet. Bringing it to his lips, he watched Dean from over the rim as he tipped it, swallowing down the spicy liquid.

"Thank you." Taking the empty glass from Sam's hand, Dean licked across Sam's lips at the exact same time that Sam’s tongue peeked out to do the same. The slide of his tongue against Sam's sent a jolt of heat straight to his cock. He put his arm around Sam's waist and stood abruptly. "We'll take our dessert in the ... playroom," he said to the servants. "Come Sam, lean on me if you're dizzy."

Sam gasped in a soft breath when the man's tongue moved against his own. He tried to calm the thundering of his heart as the man pulled him out of his seat. 

His knees wobbled a little and his feet felt as though they were numb, like when he sat on them too long. He started to take a step and nearly toppled over, his eyes round as saucers as he reached for Dean out of instinct. His gaze lifted to the man's hooded features, a slightly crooked grin curling his lips. "Heh, sorry," he muttered.

"Not a problem, gorgeous, you can bump into me anytime," Dean drawled, pulling Sam close as they headed out of the room. "What's the matter, hasn't anyone told you how good looking you are?" 

Sam blushed furiously, his face a deep scarlet as he ducked his head sheepishly. He shook his head ‘no,’ daring to shyly peer at him from under his bangs. "I mean, my Pa said I was a handsome boy once, but that was different." 

"Very different. Glad you realize that," Dean said. "In fact you're so damned good looking, I'm lucky no one's snatched you up. You ever kissed a boy Sammy? Or a girl?" As he peppered Sam with questions, Dean guided him down a set of narrow stairs leading to the satin dungeons. The magical light that flooded the upstairs was all but gone, and the distance between torches on the wall increased, so it got darker and darker.

Sam nodded, a slightly impish smirk curling his lips. "I kissed you," he pointed out with a slight giggle, before shrugging a shoulder, "And I kissed Annabelle behind the schoolhouse once. But she wasn't a very good kisser," he confided, "Her lips were all wet and smooshy," he explained, wrinkling his nose with distaste. 

"Is that right," Dean grinned. It had been a long time since he'd laughed or smiled, and in the span of only a few hours, Sam had him doing just that. 

As he talked with the man, Sam noted that the further they walked the darker it got and he could hear the soft sound of music, along with what sounded like moans and groans, like maybe... Sam's eyes widened as he looked over at the man. "Is somebody havin' a baby?" He exclaimed. 

Dean's own eyes widened. He mouthed the word 'baby' but nothing came out. Clearing his throat, he shook his head. "No, I don't think the word ‘baby’ should be spoken down here, unless it's said like this, "C'mere, baby," he rasped, pulling Sam into his arms. "Let's make a little noise." With that, he captured Sam's mouth with his own and started to give him long, hot lingering kisses, lightly pressing Sam's back against the stone wall.

Sam sucked in a breath of surprise as the man’s tongue slipped inside his mouth. He lifted his hands to defend himself, pressing his palms against Dean's chest. A grunt left him as his back connected with the wall. He tried to turn his head away, but Dean was holding him almost too tight to breathe.

"Relax. Not gonna hurt you. This doesn't hurt, does it?" Dean asked, sliding one hand up Sam's body to cradle his neck. He rubbed his thumb gently over Sam's slightly reddened lips. 

Sam shook his head ‘no,’ his eyes wide and slightly spooked. "You're just.... I mean, we're....why...?" His tongue darted out, licking nervously across his lips, the tip touching against the man's calloused thumb. He sucked in a breath and tried to duck his head as a warm blush slowly infused his cheeks. 

"You're nervous. Your heart is beating fast. Your breath is catching. Your mouth, it's got to be burning. And right here," Dean said, pressing his thigh lightly against Sam's groin, "You're feeling it... a burn, a need, a thrill. Tell me this doesn't feel good. That you don't feel more alive, that you don't want me to kiss you again, and I'll stop. But don't lie to me, Sam. Tell the truth," he said, his hot breath fanning Sam's face.

Sam's lips parted, wanting desperately to deny the man’s words.   
"I don't..." he began only to stop and shake his head, "I don't know,” he confessed. "It's wrong...I've never..." he argued desperately only to pause and lick his lips nervously once again. "You're a man."

"Yes, I am. That doesn't make it wrong, not for any _good reason_ anyway." Dean brushed his lips over Sam's one last time, but fought the need to drive his tongue into Sam's innocent mouth again. There would be time for that later. Between the drinks and the entertainment, Sam could lose some of his inhibitions by the end of the night. 

Releasing Sam, but taking his hand, Dean started heading down the stairs again. "Have you ever seen people making each other feel good? Making love?" he asked, turning his head towards Sam.

Sam shook his head adamantly, his eyes once again wide, "No, sir!" he assured, "Not even when Andy invited me to watch his brother kissing some girl in the barn!" 

"I see. Well, then tonight will be an education." 

When they stepped off the last stair, there was barely any light. The stone walls gave off a soft glow, just enough for Dean to see the way to the entry to the satin dungeons. A man and a woman stood on either side of the door, beneath two torches. Both were clad in black leather and shiny latex, showing almost as much flesh as they concealed.

"Your Highness," the red haired woman gave a curtsy, but there was nothing meek in her gaze. "You've come to play and you've brought a toy." Reaching a hand out, she ran her long painted nails down Sam's bare chest.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's eyes moved over the two people standing at the door. He was shocked and a bit curious about their clothes, or lack thereof. He shrank away from the woman's touch with a soft gasp, his eyes darting to Dean as if to ask for help.

"I, for one, hope you will be participating," the male said, with a smile directed to his prince, "You've been missed." He turned his gaze to the stranger and studied him. "He's shy. How... _unusual_."

"Oh, we'll break him of that," the woman said, "You'd like that, wouldn't you... Sam, isn't it?" she whispered against Sam's ear.

This time, Dean put his arm around Sam. "Pamela," When her brilliant blue eyes met his, he spoke again, "I'm not certain that I will share him."

"Understood," she quickly said, leaving more place between herself and Sam.

"Sam, this is Stephen," Dean made quick introductions, then pulled Sam into the dungeon, which was dimly lit in the areas where there were large sofas and floor cushions. 

"This is the viewing gallery," Dean said, taking Sam to sit down on a sofa. Many people's attention was on the show beyond the metal bars of one of the dungeons. A soft, bluish light flooded over two men and a woman, kissing and touching each other.

Sam's eyes widened, his lips parting in a gasp. Heat crawled slowly across his face and down his neck, turning the tips of his ears a brilliant crimson. He'd never seen another naked person other than his baby sister, and that was back when she was just an infant and he had to change her diapers 'cause their Pa was too busy. And he’d definitely never seen the things that these people were wielding used quite the way that they were using them here. Horse whips and bridles, collars and blindfolds...

He tore his gaze away after a moment and lowered his attention to the floor a moment before finding the courage to lift his eyes to the man seated next to him, "We don't... have to do _that_ , do we?" He inquired in trepidation. 

"Not tonight. Unless you want to." Dean’s gaze didn't waver from Sam's.

" _Tonight_?” Sam shook his head. "No! “No!...I... can't… ever..." 

Dean took Sam's hand and kissed his palm, then still holding it, he placed their joined hands on Sam's thigh. He could feel the rippling muscle and couldn't help wondering how beautiful Sam would look cuffed or spread eagled. Soon, he told himself. Very soon. "Don't worry so much. You're safe with me, I promise you that." 

Drinks were set down in front of them and Dean took his glass then started explaining to Sam, "There are three dungeon areas. If we were to walk that way," he pointed, "We would find other sitting areas in which to watch the other two shows. Anyone can be in the show; anyone who wants to play, to take pleasure in one another and to share their pleasure with the audience. As you watch them," he nodded toward the threesome, "You will feel a... What should I call it? A pull. A need. Like on the stairs, though you fought it. And, Sam? If you want anything from me. If you want to try anything, you let me know. You don't even have to tell me. You can show me, touch me," Dean whispered. "Like the others." 

It was too dim to see very well but as their eyes adjusted to the darkness, the writhing of bodies was visible. Dean pushed the hood off his head, it wasn't necessary here. Still, he kept Sam to his right since the right side of his face was unmarred. A blessing and a curse, a reminder of times long past.

Sam stared first at Dean and then at the three people grinding and writhing together, their moans and shrieks of pain mixed with their pleasure filling the room around him. He'd never seen anything like this, nor did he want to imagine touching the man sitting next to him. Oh he seemed handsome enough, from what he'd been able to glimpse and what he was able to make out in the dim lighting of the dungeon. But the fact of the matter was, he didn't care if he was the most handsome man on earth or in this country, he was still a man. Besides, Sam was a virgin, and he hadn't ever been kissed the way this man kissed him earlier. The sensations… they had to be wrong. 

As time went by, Dean hoped that the liquor would relax Sam, and that the Magdalina would affect him. Other than insisting on their thighs touching and on holding hands, he gave Sam room to concentrate on his surroundings without feeling watched. Instead, Dean spoke with Gaston, a close friend who drew a round cushion closer. They spoke of old times, then the conversation turned to Sam. 

"Do you think he is _the one_?" Gaston whispered, nodding toward the bewildered looking youth sitting next to Dean.

Dean dug within himself, trying to find an honest answer. "Probably not. In truth, the most I can hope is that he will make a good play partner for me eventually. With lots and lots of training," he sighed. "I don't imagine he will care for me. And once he sees..." his jaw hardened at the thought of revealing his scars. "It's best we stop dreaming of answers where there are none."

Gaston closed his eyes for a moment then focused on Sam again. "He is timid, that much is true. But there might be more to him..."

"He would have to be blind and to have stumbled upon Castica on his own, then maybe there would be a chance he’d fall for me," Dean snorted. "Under the circumstances, it's a wonder he doesn't hate me. Or maybe he does but he hides it well."

"Hate sex is good."

This time, Dean gave a genuine laugh, "Yes, it can be."

A beautiful woman with long silver blond hair and wearing only a metallic bikini and long boots idled up to Sam then straddle the sofa arm on his side, undulating her hips and moaning softly as she threw her head back and forth. Her hair spread over Sam's chest, sliding down to his lap. She started to touch herself, working her nipple over the soft material until it was hard and straining. "Would you like me to do this in your lap instead?" she asked, huskily, her eyes locking with Sam's.

Sam shook his head vigorously and despite himself and the fact that he was beyond shocked and possibly appalled at the woman's actions, he couldn't stop himself from staring. After another minute he forced himself to look away, lowering his gaze to his lap. He chanced a glance toward the man beside him, wanting to see what he was making of this woman's blatant advances toward him. His cheeks burned, turning a deep crimson as he forced himself to return his attention to what was happening out in the center area of the dungeon, between the three people in the caged area.

Dean smiled in the dark and lifting his hand from Sam's thigh, placed it around his shoulders, lightly caressing his arm. "Selena," he gave the woman a nod, then turned back to speak with Gaston. Despite appearances to the contrary, he was far from relaxed. His attention was on Sam, he knew exactly where he was looking and his reactions. 

Selene leaned in and whispered in Sam's ear. "That's Belle in the cuffs. Isn't she beautiful?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "Al is preparing her. Or she might call it torturing her," she chuckled, turning her head to watch Belle writhe and plead with the man on his knees in front of her, pleasuring her. "Over there, that's Drake. Belle's husband. See how he watches her? He can't wait to fuck her. He watches her like his Highness watches you," she whispered.

Sam swallowed hard and his attention snapped to Dean, his wide eyed gaze searching the man beside him for some signal that this woman who didn't seem to understand that he wished to be left alone was telling the truth. Was Dean watching him the way that man was watching his wife? His wife? His eyes opened further with shock and horror before he quickly averted his attention from those in the cage, knowing he should not be watching a man and his wife together in such a way. 

"S-s-sir," he stammered softly to Dean as he pried one eye open to look at him, "May we leave?" He inquired, "Please..."

"Call me Dean." Leaning in, he cupped the side of Sam's face, searching it in the dark. "No. We haven't had our dessert yet and we only just arrived. Relax. Drink some more wine. Enjoy the entertainment. The company," he added, a wistful note entering his voice.

"B-but, sir....Dean," he argued, "That woman out there, she's _married_!" He shook his head adamantly, "We shouldn't be watching a married woman," he insisted, "It's...sinful." 

"In Castica, marriage means giving your heart to someone. It is up to a couple whether they then want to share their bodies with others or even marry others." He heard the intake of Sam's breath and ran his thumb across his lower lip. "There is no sin in taking pleasure as long as you're not hurting anyone. Do you want me to order them to stop? Others, unmarried, can easily take their places," he offered. 

Sam stared agape, he blinked at Dean, scandalized by the idea that married people would actually willingly be taken by another.

"Yes," he exclaimed. "No! I dunno...I...Can't I just go?" He insisted.   
"Please," he begged and shook his head, "I don't want any dessert. Can't I go back to my room?" He pleaded, "I don't want to be here, please, sir...don't make me watch this..."

"Did your father teach you to throw your host's hospitality in his face?" Dean demanded, anger creeping into his tone. "You may not want your dessert, but I will have mine." Wrapping his hand around Sam's wrist, he abruptly stood. "Is the next cell open?"

Sam's eyes widened with Dean's wrath and he tried to free his wrist. "No, please," he pleaded. "I'm sorry, no, please..." 

Selene gave his Highness a nod. “It’s free.”

"Crowley," Dean snapped. "Strawberries and cream, now."

Sam's wide eyed gaze snapped from Dean to Selene and then toward the man that he'd been introduced to as Crowley who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"Yes your highness," the man said appearing at his side and snapping his fingers for servants to do as his Highness bid. Crowley followed as Dean practically dragged Sam with him.

"No," Sam beseeched, tugging at his arm, stumbling as he was forced to keep up despite his struggles to pull free.

"Your Highness, perhaps this isn't the best way to go about---" Crowley started.

"About what? I have been nothing but kind and understanding and to be told by some backward planetarian that our entertainment is lacking or doesn’t meet his high standards..."

"He doesn't know any better. Give him time."

"Stop blathering, Crowley. What do you think I'm going to do to him? Eat him?" He demanded, pushing the cell doors open. The torches started to flare up, but he raised his hand and kept the room dim. "After you," he said in as controlled a tone as he could muster, a muscle throbbing in his jaw.

Sam had no idea what the ma had in mind, but he had a sickening feeling that he wouldn’t like it in the least. His chest rose and fell heavily as they came to a halt, his traumatized gaze swing to Dean. He took a step back and meekly whispered, "No."

"You crossed worlds with me and yet you balk at _this?_ " Striding in ahead of Sam, Dean pulled him inside. "There are no married people here or anything else for you to turn up your nose at. It's just you and me. And shortly, our dessert. You don't have to eat it, but you _will_ help me enjoy mine," Dean said with finality. In a fluid motion, he lifted Sam's wrist up to about shoulder level, closed a fur lined cuff around it and secured it. He put out his hand, "Give me your other hand."

Sam shook his head adamantly, "I don't know what you mean," he insisted, "I know nothing of crossing worlds…” His eyes stung with tears as he stretched his free hand out to the other man who’d spoken up for him, Sam pleaded, "Crowley, please…. please..." 

When he realized there would be no help from that quarter, Sam looked back at Dean. “Please, sir...D-Dean," he whimpered, slowly shaking his head. "Don't do this," he murmured brokenly, "Don't do this..."

Unused to disobedience, a look of irritation crossed Dean's features. With practiced motions, he cuffed Sam’s second wrist then took a step back to grab the pulley chain on the wall. He pulled on it until Sam's arms were drawn up over his head then he secured the chain.

Sam's breaths panted harshly out. Eyes wide with terror, tears glistening under the low light, "Please," he begged yet again. Clenching his teeth, he squeezed his eyes closed and turned his head to the side, trying to force his mind to take him somewhere else. Somewhere free, somewhere bright instead of filled with shadows. He tried to think of home, of the happiness he had left...that had been stolen from him. "Papa," he mumbled brokenly as a tear slipped out of the corner of his eye and slid slowly down his cheek.

When the servants brought a cart bearing a tray, Crowley took it from them and brought it inside. He stood in front of Sam for a moment. 

Feeling the weight of someone's stare, Sam's eyes opened, his eyes blurry and dark lashes wet with tears.

"I know this is all strange and scary lad, but he won't hurt you," Crowley nodded toward the Prince who was making certain everything he wanted was on the tray. "Just relax, make a game of it. Who knows, you might enjoy yourself."

Sam sniffled softly and forced a very weak smile for the one man who was trying to help him.

"Crowley!"

"Leaving." Giving Sam an encouraging smile, Crowley left the room.

Dean pulled the tray closer, then stood in front of Sam. "Are you comfortable?" he asked, looking up at the cuffs, then testing them. "The fur should make them painless."

Sam didn't answer, though his fingers flexed and he turned his head, lifting his gaze toward the cuffs encircling his wrists. "Why are you doing this?" He asked, "I meant no harm...I - I just wanted to go to my room..."

"You scorned the entertainment I provided and you wanted to be away from Belle and Drake. Now we're away from them and you have more demands. Is there anything else you would like to insult? Me, my castle, my world, my people? Is there anything else that doesn't suit you, meet your standards? Is the food too rich, the drink unworthy?" Dean demanded. "Most would be honored by the attention I give you, where is your gratitude?" he asked, eyes narrowing. 

Sam didn't answer, but instead turned his head and squeezed his eyes closed, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth to keep it from trembling.

Dean saw the glistening tears by the flame of the distant torch. He caught the tears on the pad of his thumb and took a deep breath. "Why do you cry? Why do you fear me? I promised you no harm will come to you." He brushed his lips against Sam's. "What do you fear?" 

Sam drew in a deep shuddering breath as he turned his head and blinked his eyes open, staring into Dean's eyes though he could scarcely tell their color due to the shadows and dim lighting.   
"I don't..." he began only to pause and catch his bottom lip between his teeth worrying it, afraid that his words might well rile the man's anger.   
"I'm sorry," he murmured at long last, "I don't...I've never..." he stammered and lifted his head too look up first at one bonded wrist, then the other. "I've never...I don't know how...this - this is surely sinful," he murmured in a near whisper, as though perhaps God might not know if he kept his voice low. 

"This is about _God_? I think perhaps you put too much importance on that word. I appear at your home, and you think I am an angel of your Lord. I try to give you pleasure, and you fear it will anger your God. Do you _really_ think an all-powerful God has nothing to do but to worry about what you do or don't? How you're pleasured or whether you give up the pleasures of the flesh? What quaint notions," Dean said, a smile in his voice. 

Sam's mouth opened and closed at Dean's words, but no sound came out. The only answer that he would have been able to give the man was that he thought so, that it was what he had heard in church. A church that was strict and stuffy and where the man at the pulpit yelled about damnation and hellfire an awful lot.

"Or maybe you're right. God would be angered, jealous even, of this." Biting the tip off a strawberry, Dean rubbed the rest of the strawberry across Sam's lips, watching the red juice smear and then drip down. 

Sam gasped in a breath, his thoughts and reasoning fleeing his mind as quickly as Betty Sue and William had run from her Daddy when he'd caught them kissing under the willow tree. His tongue darted out, licking across his now sweetened lips before sucking the bottom one into his mouth as his brow creased with confusion and he slowly shook his head. "I don't...why did you? God isn't jealous...not over food. We are not to commit gluttony, but..." he mumbled.

"If you wish to turn everything into talk of sin, then perhaps it is a sin to turn your nose up at God’s gifts. Is there a more perfect, more sensuous fruit than a strawberry? It's sweet, and tart. It stains your mouth red, and stirs up desire. It's a gift... enjoy it." Dean waited for the perfect moment when Sam drew in a breath, then he lifted his chin and slanted his mouth over Sam's, kissing him lightly at first, but refusing to allow him to pull away. He tasted sweet, and innocent, and set Dean's blood on fire. 

Sam froze, though afraid of stirring the man's anger again and the humiliation of his wrath, he didn’t fight. He started to relax a little when the kiss remained somewhat chaste though his mind screamed that he should fight, that he shouldn't be standing here, even bound as he was, and allow this _man_ to kiss him. If for no other reason, than the sheer fact that he was just that, a man.

"Take this gift," Dean demanded, almost roughly, thrusting his tongue into the heat of Sam's mouth, and this time kissing him the way he wanted, engaging his tongue and coaxing a response from him.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat when he felt the warm wetness of Dean’s tongue invading his mouth. A soft whimper broke from his throat, only to be muffled by the kiss. He tried to pull his head back, but the wall behind him gave no room for such action. His limbs trembled and fear coiled in his gut when his body began to feel funny, his eyelids feeling heavy despite the fact that they were closed, his skin warm, flushed and feverish. He found himself leaning into the kiss and despite knowing better, he ignored the voice in his head that cried out, 'Sinner!'

A thrill ran through Dean. Yes, this boy was stubborn and resistant, but his body would betray him over and over. Dean would have what he wanted, what he needed from him. The rest, whether his heart would follow, that was something Dean had no control over. 

He kissed Sam, again and again, pulling away each time he sensed Sam was ready for more, that he was chasing his tongue. He ran his palm up from Sam's abs, over his heated, exposed flesh, tugging the material of his shirt to one side and rubbing the pad of his thumb over Sam's nipple, until it was erect and hard. 

Sam gasped as that simple touch sent sensations skyrocketing downward to pool low and thick in his gut. His back arched into Dean’s touch, his nipple aching for another touch, his mind screaming for more, demanding harder, firmer. He wasn't sure what this man had done to him, cast a spell perhaps. Perhaps instead of the angel he had first thought the man to be, he was indeed in league with Satan. Perhaps it was witchcraft that had spared his beloved sister's life and it was witchcraft now that caused him to act like a wanton. If it was so, then he was a blameless victim. Surely God would not judge one who had no control over the things that a witch forced him to do.

After he'd drawn a few more reactions from Sam, Dean stepped back. He stood there for a long moment, breathing hard and watching Sam, admiring his handiwork. The innocent no longer looked so innocent, not with his swollen lips, nor with the flush that covered his body. "You're more than I'd ever hoped for," he said thickly, hiding none of the lust that Sam stirred within him. "It's time for your dessert."

Wrenching his gaze from the man who was tied up and at his mercy, Dean went to the small table and picked up a scarf. Black. Tossing it aside, he selected another one, a thin red silk scarf. Returning, he locked gazes with Sam. 

Sam's chest heaved with his heavy breaths while his heavy lidded eyes followed after the man. It took a moment for his passion clouded mind to clear, before he realized Dean meant to blindfold him. His feet shuffled beneath him as he struggled to cringe away from the silken material as though it were a venomous thing. 

"I'll make sure we both enjoy this," Dean whispered, lifting his hands up and placing the material across Sam's eyes. "Don't struggle," he ordered, as he started to tie the knot behind Sam's head.

"Please," Sam whispered. His brow creased at the strangeness to his voice reminding him of the time that he had gotten sick and had been in bed for all of two weeks, his throat aching and swollen, breaths ragged and shallow. He had thought for certain that he was about to join their mother in paradise. 

"Yes. I will please you, and you _will_ please me." Straightening the blindfold, Dean ran his hand down Sam's face, rubbing his finger across his swollen lips. "We're going to play, Sam. No one will stop this game. It's out of your control, so don't fight it, just let it happen. There's no guilt in this. There's no choice in this. Do you understand? You can allow yourself to feel, to react, to want, to ask... and there’s no fault." 

"Open your mouth. Taste this," Dean said, bringing a strawberry over and painting it over Sam's lower lip, dragging it slightly down. At the sight of the boys straight, white teeth, Dean's breath hitched. "Eat it. Now." 

Sam's heart hammered out an unsteady rhythm. The tip of his tongue darted out to taste, brushing against the slightly fuzzy small fruit. A small sigh escaped his lips in relief that it was something he was familiar with. His lips parted to take the proffered berry and his heart skipped a beat at the desperate need that he could hear deep within the command that the man had softly barked. He gave another small, barely there, nod, before sinking his teeth into the berry. Slurping somewhat uncouthly as the juice got away from him, dribbling down his chin, instinct had him trying to lower one arm so that he could wipe the back of his hand across his mouth only to have the chains rattle.

Instantly, Dean's gaze went to the chains. If Sam had been able to see his eyes, he'd have seen lust in its purest form. Dean tugged the hood off his head and tossed it to the floor, then waited until Sam swallowed, before grinding his mouth against Sam's. Before he was done kissing him, he'd licked up every last drop of the strawberry juice dripping down Sam's chin and throat. 

"You don't have to worry about anything. _I_ take care of the clean-up," Dean whispered. 

Bringing over the table tray, Dean dipped his fingers into the bowl and started to paint cool, thick whipped cream over Sam. First he covered his lips, then he drew lines down along the column of his throat, making sure to leave a small dollop right over his Adam’s apple. Seeing Sam's throat convulse, a small moan escaped Dean. They'd barely started and he was getting wound up.

Reaching for Sam's shirt, he grasped each side and tugged hard, tearing it into two, then pushing it as far back as he could over Sam's shoulders, tucking the cloth behind them so his chest was fully exposed and framed by light blue material swaying and caressing his flesh. Dean painted Sam's nipples, playing with them, sometimes blowing his hot breath over them, and moving lower down his body. 

Sam's breath caught in his throat when the man began to paint his body with a thick light-weight goo. He wasn’t certain, but he had an idea that it might be cream; like the kind his ma use to use to cover his birthday cakes. When his shirt was torn, he gasped in a breath and his feet shuffled backward as far as they could in an attempt to get away. His throat convulsed again as he swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to lick across his lips covered with sweet cream. His back arched and a low moan escaped his lips as Dean toyed with his nipples causing his cock to twitch behind the confines of his trousers, pressing almost painfully against the material. 

"Do you know how I'm going to clean you up?" Dean asked, just as he reached the waistband of Sam's pants and gave it a rough tug, using his thumb to expertly unbutton it. 

"Please," Sam whispered thickly, uncertain of what exactly was happening to him, though he was lost to the sensations swirling through his body, pooling low in his gut and making him painfully hard. He shook his head, not wanting Dean to discover the secret he was hiding inside his undergarments. 

As Dean continued undoing the front of Sam's pants, he lowered himself down to his knees, dipped his head forward and licked a long path from the lowest point of the opening of Sam's pants up to his abs and navel. Swirling his tongue around, he licked up all the whipped cream, humming his pleasure against Sam's taut flesh. He could feel Sam trembling. Knew he was probably uncertain. Maybe this type of thing had never crossed Sam's mind, maybe he'd never even dreamed anything of this sort. These thoughts both filled Dean with wonder, and for the first time in his life, he understood the obsession that some had with being someone else's _first._

Tucking his fingers into the waistband of Sam's pants and briefs, he tugged on one side, then the other, slowly working the clothes down past Sam's ass, and lower, taking pleasure in the thought that the pants now worked as an additional restraint on Sam's movements. 

A soft whimper broke from Sam's lips and he shifted his legs, bending one at the knee in an attempt to hide evidence of his arousal. A bright blush of shame colored his cheeks and down his throat, and up to the tips of his ears. "I don't want....you..." he stammered. "I don't want you to see." 

"I assure you, it is nothing that I've never seen." As he pulled the material one last time, Dean sucked his breath in at the sight of Sam's cock, now free of his clothes and heavy with arousal. "I take it back," he said, intentionally fanning his breath across Sam's shaft. "Have you thought what it might feel like to be taken in someone's mouth and sucked on? No?" He asked in response to Sam's silent but adamant denials and head shakes. "You're about to find out. What do you think of that?" Dean started applying whipped cream to Sam's cock with the lightest of touches, looking up occasionally to study Sam's face. "Hmm? Answer me." 

Sam's breath left him in a rush. A soft whimper broke from his throat, lips pressed tightly together, nostrils flaring with his heavy breaths. How could this man think that he would have ever even dreamt of such a thing? He was not a wanton louse or a depraved man. "A-a-fffraid," he whispered.

"Afraid. And have I hurt you yet?" Dean asked, his voice silky soft. 

"Y-y-yet?" Sam stammered once again struggling to back himself away from Dean and getting nowhere. "N-n-no. Please...don't....don't hurt me," he murmured shakily. 

"I promised you I wouldn't. I haven't. And I won't, unless you consider pleasure to be pain. Do you think it will hurt to be sucked on?" Unable to resist, Dean closed his mouth around the tip of Sam's cock and sucked on it, then swirled his tongue against it before pulling off and adding more cream. "Did that hurt?" He asked, slowly standing up to his full height.

Sam's breaths left him in an audible rush, lips parting, mouth falling open as he tilted his head back when Dean's mouth enveloped the head of his cock. He gulped in breaths, chest rising and falling heavily with each one and his hands curled into tight fists as his mouth slowly closed and he gritted his teeth, a deep loud growl tearing from his throat.

He pulled his head up, breaths heaving from between his parted lips when Dean withdrew his mouth, allowing Sam's hard shaft to fall from between his lips. He shook his head in response to the man's question, though his blush remained firmly in place, despite the fact that he was too strung out with lust to care. "No," he rasped breathlessly.

He had been near coming when the man pulled his lips away though it was not a thing that he would share aloud; he was just glad that Dean had ceased before Sam humiliated himself. 

"You know what _is_ going to hurt? Waiting for me to do it again," Dean promised. 

As he allowed time for that thought to take hold, Dean ate a strawberry. Leaving some of its juices on his mouth, he crushed his mouth over Sam's. Between the cream still over Sam's lips and the juices on his own, their mouths glided against each other and when Dean pushed his tongue inside Sam's mouth, he could truly say he hadn't had a sweeter dessert in a century or more. 

Dean's kisses were less innocent this time. He kissed Sam like he was about to bed him, his tongue moving in and out of the youth's mouth, his hands roving over his shoulders and along his arms, up to where his wrists were clamped against the wall. Dean rubbed his palms against Sam's, letting his fingers slip between Sam's, making every one of his movements and sounds sensuous, wanting to overload Sam's senses and having the experience to enable him to do just that. 

Sam's chest heaved, nostrils flared as he panted his breaths while Dean kissed him, not allowing him time to think or speak. His hips cantered forward of their own accord and a low guttural groan escaped him when his cock brushed up against the hard muscles of Dean's fabric encased thigh. The muscles of his stomach jumped and tensed and precome pearled at the tip of his throbbing dick while he writhed there against the wall. 

Sensing Sam's rising desire, Dean went rock hard. The thought of bringing Sam to tears with want tied Dean up in knots. He kissed and licked his way down Sam's throat, sucking on his Adam's apple and along the hollows of his collar bone. He made his way across Sam's arm, nipping his flesh and tracing the long lines of his muscles. Then he paid special attention to his palms, knowing just how sensitive they could be. All the while, he moved his body against Sam's, making sure Sam couldn't escape the rhythm that he was setting, a rhythm Sam's body would surely recognize.

Slowly, Dean moved down Sam's body, sucking on his nipple with bruising force, but then gently soothing him with licks and kisses. "You taste so good, so damned good. Feel the heat of my mouth? It's gonna be around your dick soon. Gonna suck on you hard, Sammy. Gonna blow your mind," he whispered each time he lifted his mouth off Sam's body to take a breath, making his way to his other nipple.

Lip lips parted, Sam breathed heavily, his chest heaving. His head bowed as though he were watching the man's movements down his body, though the blindfold made it impossible. 

He sucked in a loud breath and his back arched severely, pushing his nipple into Dean's mouth, his cock twitching and pulsing in response to the sensation. Precome trickled from him, slicking his shaft as his hips moved in the way they did on those few nights when Sam's body wouldn't listen to his mind and he'd stroked himself in the dark of his bedroom.

Kneeling in front of Sam, Dean kissed along his hip bone and moved across his abs to his other hip. "Almost there, almost there Sam," he said, caressing Sam's powerful thighs, brushing his cock, but never for longer than for a fraction of a second. 

"Please," Sam panted, voice hoarse and raw. He struggled to control his body, to keep his hips from continually bucking, though his body seemed determined to ignore his wishes. His features fell into a mask of anguished denial and his head fell back to thud softly against the wall before rolling from side to side. "Oh God, please help me," he cried out in misery.

"God isn't here, Sam. It's just you and me. And I want to lick you. I want to suck you. I want to make you feel better. I want to so bad," Dean rasped, cupping Sam's balls and continuing to kiss and lick him everywhere but where he needed it most. "Tell me where it hurts... where you want me to make it better."

Sam sucked in an audible breath and his head snapped forward when Dean cupped his balls. His chest rose and fell heavily, nipples standing at attention, his cock mimicking the gesture, twitching and bobbing between his legs wantonly. His hips thrust forward, over and over as though he were fucking something real instead of just the air before him. His muscles tensed as his head lulled back, neck arching and face flushing a deeper shade of crimson. He grit his teeth together, a growled cry ripping from the depths of his throat, the tendon in his neck standing out. His arms pulled taut against the chains and his back arched, his bucking frantically before the first ribbon of cum shot from his cock. 

Frowning in consternation, Dean quickly stood up and plastered himself against Sam's writhing body, rocking against him hard, rubbing his leather clad cock against Sam's even as Sam came. 

"Son of a bitch," he swore as Sam shuddered to a stop and Dean was still hard. He could still take his pleasure, but his plan had been thwarted and it pissed him the hell off. 

Pushing away from Sam, he shouted, "Crowley!"

A few moments later, Crowley was in the room. "Yes, Highness?" He looked at the two men and, noting Dean’s thunderous expression, refrained from making any jokes.

"Get him cleaned up and put to bed. And if he's not fitted with a cock ring the next time I want him, it'll be your head." Without another look at either of the two men, Dean stalked out of the dungeons, still wound up tight and not at all used to disappointment.

Sam's body slumped forward. His limbs felt like rubber and he had no idea what Dean was bellowing about. What was a cockring anyhow? He didn't have much time to ponder the notion before he felt Crowley's gentle hands peel the blindfold from his eyes. 

"Right then, looks like you're through with dessert," Crowley said to Sam. "Made quite a mess too, must have been good for at least one of you, eh?" 

Sam blinked, wearily opening his eyes. His lips quirked limply at one corner, "Heh, I dunno," he replied honestly.

Was it good for him? Sam supposed that one could say so, though he had nothing to compare it to other than his own hand and frankly he had preferred that since he didn't lie there teasing himself the way Dean had. As he lowered his gaze, he was nearly certain that he had turned a shade of magenta with mortification at the mess he’d made down the front of the britches. "Sorry," he mumbled quietly as he ducked his head sheepishly. 

Crowley's gaze dropped down Sam's body. "You've got nothing to be sorry about luv, I'll tell you that much." Quickly freeing Sam's wrists, he bent down and started pulling his trousers up. "By the time we get to your quarters, there'll be a nice warm bath waiting for you. Have you worked up an appetite? There'll be wine and cheese waiting for you, and anything else you'd like. Perhaps the rest of the strawberries?" 

Sam's lips curved into a smile. For some reason he didn't take the things that Crowley said as insults or as sexual innuendos meant to damn his soul. He found he liked the man and wouldn't mind actually getting to know him, he could use a friend here, where he felt so at a loss and in a suspended state of confusion. 

As Crowley rambled on, he wondered if the man felt as awkward as Sam. After all, Dean had left the man to pretty well clean up a mess that, in Sam's mind, should be Sam’s alone to clean.

"Uh, actually...I mean, the cheese sounds great, I love cheese, but would it be possible...?" he began only to pause as he cringed, unsure whether it was too much to ask. "I mean, if it’s not possible, it's okay, I just...well, I was wondering...May I have some warm homemade bread and butter? And um, maybe water instead of the wine?" 

"I'm more used to his Highness' consort of the day asking for the rarest caviars and most expensive champagnes, than simple bread and butter, but done," he declared, cocking his head and giving an amused smile. "We'll get you some tea as well. Are you a teetotaler?" Snapping the button of his pants closed, Crowley stepped away, and once Sam moved from the wall, he easily plucked the shredded shirt right off his back, and tossed it onto the floor. 

Sam wasn't totally certain what a consort was but he figured it was probably the men and women that Dean made to feel as shameful as he had Sam, tying them up and making them feel things with his sorcery. But Crowley’s agreement to provide bread and butter had him thanking the man profusely. "Yes, sir, my ma use to make tea at night before bed, and we'd have some before she tucked me in." 

For some reason, even though Crowley plucked his shirt off, Sam felt none of the shame or embarrassment he felt when he was bared to Dean’s view. With Crowley, all he felt was a sense of comradery.   
"Will you have tea with me?" He asked. "I'd prefer not to be alone, and I'd like to have a friend here."

"I'm at your service, when I'm not at his Highness' beck and call, and he has no need of me at the moment. I'd love to have tea with you." As they walked out of the room, he snapped his fingers and gave a few orders that sent servants scurrying ahead. 

Sam's smile only grew at Crowley's acceptance of his invitation. Dimples showed in his cheeks and, instead of the shy and timid way he’d entered the dungeons, he walked out with a slight spring in his step and lightness in his heart. He might be hundreds of miles from home, and he might not understand things here in this land, and he definitely did not understand its Lord and Master, but he had a friend and that alone said something.


	4. Chapter 4

He followed Crowley back to Sam’s suite of rooms, and walked into a room he hadn’t explored before. Sam's eyes went wide in awe as he took in the sight of the large sunken tub millions of large white pillar candles surrounding it, casting a warm flickering glow. He swallowed hard and turned his attention curiously to Crowley. "All this is for _me_?" He inquired skeptically.

"You must have been too tired to listen or Dean, his Highness, didn't explain to you that you're to be treated as his _second_. He's very generous," Crowley said, adding under his breath, "When he wants to be." 

Of course Crowley wanted Sam to like Dean, to more than like him, as did practically everyone else living within the safety of the castle walls. "As such, all this and more is yours," he said sweeping his arm around.

Sam's lips moved though no sound came out. He had heard the man tell him such things but their meaning had not sunk in until now. No, that wasn't exactly right, for even now, he had no real idea what being Dean’s ‘second’ encompassed. All he did know was that he’d never seen a bath like this. Normally, he simply bathed outside in a metal basin or else waded out into the creek to wash. A bath like this was fit for royalty. While he understood Dean was royalty, he couldn’t comprehend that he, himself, would be treated like royalty too.

Crowley waved a few servants inside the bathing chamber, and at his nod, a few of them started to strip Sam of his clothes. "I've already seen everything there is to see, and they've got the same plumbing as you do," Crowley noted, seeing Sam's color heighten. 

"Yes, but they..." Sam argued gently as his head turned from side to side, his gaze following the two men undoing his garments. He pulled away from them, stumble-stepped backward and held up his hands.   
"Wait, please! I can do it myself!"

When the servants stared dumbfoundedly at him, Sam repeated more gently, "Please, go busy yourselves elsewhere or take leave of your duties for a moment to do something for yourselves. I can remove my own clothing." 

When they stood their ground, uncertainty within their gazes, Sam gave a sigh. "Leave us. I swear, if for some reason I forget how to undress myself, I will ask Sir Crowley for assistance."

One of the servants bobbed his head. "Ring the bell when you're ready for us to bathe you."

As they left, Crowley added for Sam's benefit, "Dean used to call that 'washing the royal bits,’ when he was a young lad." 

Sam was stunned at the thought that they would _bathe_ him. He managed to tear his gaze from the departing servants and shook his head. "I can bathe myself."

Still shaking his head, he pushed his pants, which had already been unfastened by the servants, down to his ankles, stepping out of them. Stripping off his undergarments too, he walked to the marble bath, which to him was more like a miniature swimming hole. Slowly, he walked down its stairs, into the steaming water.

Sitting back once he was fully submerged under the bubbles, he allowed his eyes to slip closed as a contented sigh broke from between his lips. A smile curved them for a moment, and he blinked his eyes back open to look over at Crowley. "If you wish to leave, I can meet you somewhere for tea."

"Our tea is being brought in here. And crumpets, but you may stick to your bread and butter if you wish." Crowley gave a shrug, and then stepped closer to the edge of the bathing pool. A servant brought in a comfortable arm chair for him, and he sat down. Before he could ask about their food and drink, a small table was brought next to him. A servant poured his tea and set his crumpets out.

Another servant brought a tray and set it down on the edge of the pool for Sam. As he'd requested, there was fresh bread and butter, tea and water. There was also wine, a bit of fruit and some crumpets. They poured everything out for Sam, offered honey to sweeten his tea, and then left the room.

"Do you think you will get used to it? Living here with us?" There was good and bad in Castica. Crowley realized that Sam would now have luxuries he'd never dreamed of, but he would also be a prisoner just like the rest of them, hardly ever venturing beyond the castle walls.

Sam's gaze lifted from the tray and he stilled the hand that had been reaching for the bread. He weighed his answer a moment as his eyes searched Crowley's. "I don't really have a choice in the matter, do I?" He answered simply, taking the bread off the tray. 

"Tell me," Sam began, "What are the people that Dean rules over like? Are there many of them? Do they think he is a fair king?" 

"Dean is the ruler of the Principality of Castica, as such, he's a prince, not a king. You will, no doubt be given full lessons regarding the principalities of our planet, the ruling form and of course, history. I won't bore you with any of that now." 

Stirring some honey into his tea, Crowley settled back. "Once, Dean ruled over millions. He was loved well enough, but certainly not by everyone. Now... now that he rules over only thousands, those of us that survived the cold snap and now live within the castle walls. I would say he is better loved now, than ever before. People have more intimate knowledge of him and he keeps us safe, or has, as the dangers out there increase with time. Within the walls, the weather is better than beyond, and the walls keep out the nightmarish creatures of the night. Outside... whatever you do, do not go outside the walls. It is a dangerous place even for his Highness with his magic. For those with none..." Crowley spread his hands, “it means likely death.” 

"Magic," Sam echoed with a nod, "I knew he was evil," he muttered almost to himself, turning his attention to watching the bubbles of his bath pop.

"He crossed galaxies to find you. He saved your sister. He could have died from the amount of magic he used to do all that, or could have returned in the heart of the wastelands and lost his life. But there are backwards planets out there that view anyone with technology or magic as ‘evil.’ Let's hope you are open to education. If so, you'll find out that magic and technology are not, in and of themselves, evil. At least no more so than a hunting dagger is evil. Now the wielder of the dagger, that's a different story." 

Sam turned his head as he listened to Crowley, taking his words to heart. He nodded his understanding. 

He wanted to ask Crowley what he meant when he'd said that Dean had crossed _galaxies_ to find _him_. Had Dean spied him in some magic spell he had conducted? Or had he seen him in some sort of crystal ball, like the gypsies who told fortunes at the carnivals that came to his small town now and again? He pressed his lips together and tried to rethink his question, debating just how and even _if_ he ought to ask at all. After all, this man he was so unsure of was, in the end, Crowley’s prince. 

"I was taught to believe many things that I am finding do not apply here," Sam said instead, "Are we that far out of the sight of God?" 

"Well that is one thing we have in common. God is a mystery to all peoples of all galaxies, it seems. There are both believers and Godless here. I am never sure which camp his Highness belongs in, probably whichever is most convenient, depending on the question," Crowley said with smirk. "Of course, sometimes, one would think he _is_ God."

Sam couldn’t help the amused smirk that tugged at his lips at Crowley’s teasing words.

A low, but firm sound of someone clearing their throat had Crowley looking over his shoulder, then immediately standing. "Highness."

Sam's smile fell away as his head snapped to the side, his attention going to the man who had entered the chamber so quietly that he had not heard him, likely another form of his sorcery. 

"Hmph," Dean made a sound of disgruntled acknowledgement. 

The candles seemed to flicker more brightly, the mirrors in the room reflecting the light and reminding Dean of their presence. He pulled his hood more securely around his head, and then went to take the seat vacated by Crowley. "Have the servants been remiss in washing you? Or are they done already? I wanted to watch."

Crowley quietly left the room.

Sam's gaze moved with the man, tracking him watchfully. He opened his mouth to bid Crowley not to leave, but the man was gone in a flash, leaving him once more alone with the strange hooded man. He swallowed hard and hung his head demurely. "I didn't want them to," he muttered softly.

"Ah. You would prefer that I help you, is that it?" Dean inquired.

"No!" Sam exclaimed, nearly falling over in his rush to put distance between himself and the man seated next to him, trying to get out of arms reach within the large pool of water.

Once he had righted himself his gaze met Dean's face, features hidden by the hood he wore. "I mean, I can do it myself," he corrected softly as he bowed his head.

Dean chuckled. "It seems you're more cooperative with a blindfold and wrist bindings. Are you going to have your wine?" He nodded toward the untouched glass. 

Sam's head snapped up, his attention going to the man, eyes wide, his heart hammering with trepidation in his chest. After a moment when Dean did not move to touch him in any way, he released a breath of relief and lowered his gaze once more. "I prefer the tea and water," he murmured. 

"Then you won't mind if I take it." Getting out of the chair, Dean walked around the pool and squatted down next to Sam, his gaze flying to the pulse beating at the base of his throat. "I make you nervous. Is it the hood?" he asked, closing his hand around the stem of the wine glass.

"Among other things," Sam murmured. He lifted his head, "Where did Crowley go?" 

"My guess? Probably down to the dungeons to take his pleasure. If you're that fascinated by him, we can go watch," he said, though there was a slight edge to his voice and he got up abruptly, moving back to the chair.

Sam's eyes widened and he lifted his head to stare gob smacked at the man. He hadn't even considered the possibility that Crowley was like the others he had seen in the dungeon. He swallowed hard and lowered his gaze as he shook his head. "No, thank you," he mumbled softly.

"Tell me about yourself. Pretend I'm Crowley, if you have to," Dean said waving his hand, irritated by the knowledge that whereas he was getting one word answers, his retainer had been able to hold actual conversations with Sam. 

Sam shrugged a shoulder, "Not much to tell,” he muttered, staring at the water as though fascinated at the quickly dissolving bubbles. 

Something snapped inside Dean. He threw his wine glass across the large room. It shattered against a mirrored wall, the crystal shards raining down on the candles and causing them to flicker. "I will not tolerate one word answers, not when I know you are perfectly capable of conversing," he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "If you wish to be rebellious, then you will keep your rebellion from me, and you will be civil. Bare civility does not count. Am I clear?" he roared.

Sam's eyes widened in shock as the glass shattered sending glittering shards spraying across the floor. He turned his attention to Dean when the man began bellowing at the top of his lungs. He drew in a deep breath, clenched his teeth, his eyes tightening into slits as he stared defiantly up at the hooded man. 

"Am. I. Clear?" Dean repeated, moving to the edge of the pool and looking straight down at the youth. 

Sam’s features softened just slightly as he gazed back at Dean. "You have green eyes," he commented casually as if he hadn't heard Dean shouting at him. "Or eye, I can't really see the other one," he corrected. "And yes, I hear you, I'm not deaf," he grumbled as an afterthought for fear the man might just pop a vein if he didn't answer him. 

Once, this youth or anyone else who saw him, would observe more than the fact that he had green eyes. Poems had been written about Dean’s eyes, though he'd scoffed and laughed at those who had that much time upon their hands. 

Now...

Now what was the use? Why did he even try? The thought that he would never bring admiration in this youth's eyes, not unless he hid behind his mask and worked magic with his hands, brought with it a weight of sadness Dean had not felt in a long time. Not since the day he'd banned all mirrors in the castle. The ban had been lifted some time ago, though not in his own quarters. 

Wordlessly, Dean turned on his heels and left the room.

Echoes of " _Your highness, is anything amiss?_ " rang out in the hallway after him.

Sam stared after the retreating man wondering what it is that he had said to offend him. He hadn't meant what he'd said about Dean's other eye negatively. He just honestly couldn't see it. Was unable to see much of his face at all. A thought occurred to Sam then, in that moment. Perhaps the man had no other eye, perhaps he’d lost it in battle. Wasn't that what knights and princes did, battle their enemies? Slay dragons and rescue damsels in distress? 

He hung his head sadly and reached for the bar of soap that lay nearby no longer wishing to dawdle here in the tub despite the flowery fragrance and the relaxing warmth. He washed quickly and stood, reaching for the sheet of cloth nearby to dry himself off as he climbed from the bath. He had no idea what was expected of him after he was done. Finishing wrapping the towel around his bare body, he padded out into the hall, hair still dripping. 

“Sir, the other door leads directly to you chambers,” a servant in the outside hall told him.

Giving a nod, Sam went back into the bathing chamber and walked through another door that led directly to his room. He headed for the wardrobe in hopes of locating a night shirt to slip on before crawling into bed. To say that it had been a long and strange day would have been an understatement. 

A servant rushed into Sam's bedroom, searching for him. "Sire, let me dry you and ready you for bed," she said, bringing in extra towels. "If you'll just sit down," she nodded toward a comfortable chair.

Sam turned and shook his head. "It's okay, I can do it," he replied before turning back toward the vast wardrobe. "You could tell me though where to find my night gowns." 

"Night gowns? You wish to cross-dress? I'll have some lacey negligees brought in for you if you insist but..." She glanced at the door, then back at Sam, "His highness' tastes don't run in that direction, if you know what I mean."

Sam's brow furrowed with confusion as he stared at the woman as though she spoke a foreign language. "No, I mean..." he motioned down the front of his own body with the hand not holding the towel around his middle. "Night clothes," he explained, "I need something to wear to bed."

"I don't think his Highnesses tastes run in _that_ direction either," she sighed, but walked into the closet and opened some of the drawers. Every line of her face was etched in doubt, yet she brought him the dark gray shorts that had a tube, looking much like an elephant trunk, sewn into them. "Don't worry, it stretches," she said, tugging on the material to show him that his shaft would fit, whether he was large or not.

Sam's eyes widened to comical proportions before he adamantly shook his head. "No, I can't..." he muttered as a blush quickly stained his cheeks. After a moment of looking at them his gaze lifted to her face and he couldn't help the embarrassed yet amused smile that curled his lips. "He really expects someone to wear _that_?" 

When she didn’t respond, Sam rolled his eyes. "Let _him_ wear them, I think I'll just go with my underpants and be done with it." 

"I'm quite sure he wouldn't be caught dead in them,” the servant answered. “I brought them out because I thought you wanted it," she said, copying the gesture Sam had made, moving her hand in the air around her groin area, which he’d wanted to cover up. "His Highness' taste in bed clothes is both simple and impeccable. He likes to go natural. Perhaps you should, it would please him."

Sam shook his head, "Of course he does," he muttered half under his breath. "No," he responded firmly, "A God fearing man does not do _anything_ naked, well, except _that_ ...," he corrected, a deep blush staining his cheeks. "Anyway, if he doesn't like it, why's he giving it to me? What, I get his cast offs?" Sam asked. “And what do you _mean,_ 'it would please him'? How would he know what I wore to bed? And why would he care?" 

"Do you think these are cast offs or that his Highness has the time or desire to select every garment of clothing?" Clucking her tongue and shaking her head, the servant answered her own question. "He gave an order that you be provided with a selection of clothing and these things were brought in for you. Here, try these," she said, bringing out a pair of silk pants. "I understand he favors red for you?" The word had spread around the castle that his Highness had taken part in this evenings dungeon games, and that he'd used a red scarf. "Then let's get you off to bed, I was told you'd be tired after your trip."

Sam reached out with his free hand and took hold of the woman's wrist, stopping her. "Wait," he commanded gently, "You didn't answer my questions," he pointed out as he shook his head slowly while meeting her eyes with his own pointedly. "What did you _mean_ when you said that it would please him if I were to go to bed without bed clothes?" he questioned. "And again, why would he know or care? And while we're on the subject, why does he wear that hood all the time?" His eyes narrowed with curiosity and suspicion. "And don't say you don't know," he warned, "I lived in a small town and it can't be much different than being here in the castle together all the time, and I knew what color undergarments Abigail had on in church last Sunday," he remarked, "Just as you knew that Dean sleeps without the use of garments." 

"You confuse me with too many questions. Please Sire, put your clothes on and I will try to explain," she said, this time speaking slowly, as if with a child and waiting for Sam to start getting dressed. "His Highness--"

Crowley walked in, looking disheveled and wearing the mark of more than one set of lips on his throat. "Because His Highness is very perceptive and I doubt that he will miss the fact that you are wearing clothes to his bed. Margret, go home, nurse your babe, I will take Sam in hand."

Sam's attention swung from the woman, his grip on her wrist falling away as he took in Crowley’s appearance.

Giving Crowley a grateful smile, Margret rushed off.

Sam watched the woman as she scurried out of the room before his attention darted back to Crowley.

"I turn my back for a minute and you're _both_ raising hell? You two should try to get along, it would be much more comfortable for the rest of us," Crowley said, nodding at Sam. 

Sam shook his head, "What do you mean _his bed_?" He asked incredulously. "I am not going anywhere _near_ his bed. Why would I? I have a perfectly good bed right here," he argued with a wave of his free hand toward the bed in question.

He sighed heavily at Crowley's nod, turning his attention to the door briefly before looking back at the man, "Where am I going?" he inquired. "And why will no one tell me what is going on? What did you mean earlier when you said that he traveled," he paused as his brow furrowed thoughtfully, trying to remember the word that Crowley had used earlier. “Galaxies!" He exclaimed excitedly as it came to him.   
"What did you mean when you said he had traveled galaxies to find _me_? How did he even know about me? I had never met him before in my life! And why does he want me here so badly? Please, Crowley," he pleaded, "Please tell me what's going on, as my _friend_ , please tell me. I promise I won't tell him, I won't tell anyone, just please..."

"It is a lot for someone like you to take in all at once. It is hard for you to understand what we speak of and it is just as difficult for us to find the right words to explain. Your education is to start tomorrow, but... Why don't I take you to the library and show you a few things?" 

Sam sighed, he supposed that perhaps Crowley was answering his questions in his own way despite the fact that it _felt_ like he was getting the run around. 

He looked down at the red pants that Margret had given him then lifted his gaze back up at Crowley. "Can I have a shirt to go with these or is this place filled with nothing but shirtless men?" He inquired, despite the fact that Crowley was wearing a shirt. 

"I'll find something, a robe," Crowley offered, having a feeling that if he gave Sam a shirt, the man would never part from it again. Striding to the closet, he rummaged around. "I think this will do nicely," he said, pulling out a red silk robe. "And the belt might come in handy, if you play your cards right." Laughing at his own joke, he emerged with the article of clothing.

Sam nodded at the idea of a robe, it was as close to a night gown as he was likely going to get in this place. Sam pressed his lips into a thin line at the joke not at all sure that it was funny, but he didn't fault the man for he simply did not share his brand of humor. "It's fine," Sam mumbled with a nod as he reached for the garment. 

He stared at Crowley, one hand holding the red silk pants and robe while the other clutched at the towel, keeping it tightly held around him. "Aren't you going to turn around so I can get dressed?" He asked, confusion knitting his brow. "It's only polite."

"My God, man, I cleaned you up, then you invited me to watch you bathe and _now_ you act as shy as a rabbit? And you think you don't understand us?" Snorting, Crowley crossed his arms and gave his back to Sam. "I've got quite an imagination, you know. I could be imagining you without that towel just about now." 

Sam actually found himself chuckling at Crowley's mock outrage as he allowed the towel to fall from around him and stepped into the red silk pants, pulling them up to his hips. "Yes, but then your beloved Prince would be angry with you, would he not?" he reasoned with a quirk of his brows, a wide grin still splitting his face.

He reached for the robe, having tossed it across the foot of the bed while he'd stepped into the pants. He wrapped it around himself, arms into the arm holes then reached for the belt, tying the robe snugly closed around him. "Alright, you can turn around now," Sam allowed.

Turning around, Crowley gestured for Sam to walk out of the room. As he walked past, he gave a wolf whistle. "Suits you. It's nice and snug around the ass," he said. "You know, if you fall out of favor, there's plenty who would take you." Following Sam out of the room he added, “Imagining you is of no consequence. Now _touching you_ , that will make ‘my beloved prince’ angry with me. Do remind me not to touch, will you?"

Sam's steps faltered as he looked back over his shoulder, his eyes widening slightly at the man's words before he swallowed hard and nodded. "I'll make sure that you remember," he assured.

Crowley's laughter bounced off the stone walls all the way down the hall. "You're amusing, you know that? No of course you don't know that. This way," he turned a corner and they entered a large, oval room, with shelves of books from the floor to the ceiling, which was about three stories up. Narrow sets of stairs and catwalks allowed one to reach the books that were too high. There were desks and comfortable sofas, even a large fire place, though there was no fire at the moment. 

"Welcome to the main library. There are several smaller, more intimate reading rooms around the castle, but this one has most of the books of learning." Crowley went to one of the tables, picked up a decanter and poured two glasses of spirit. "You should sit down, I don't want you fainting on me. Well, that's not _quite_ true..."

Sam's lips parted to respond to Crowley's question regarding him being funny only to snap closed again as the man answered his own question. The man was wrong, Sam’s baby sister had often found him amusing. Before he could argue with him about whether he had a sense of humor, Sam found himself in the largest room he had ever seen in his entire life. The mercantile and town church could _both_ easily fit inside this one room. His eyes widened as he surveyed the things around him.

His attention snapped back to Crowley, brow creasing in confusion, "Why would you want me to faint?" He inquired before a snicker fell from his lips. "Not that I would, only women get the vapors."

"Well, if you were to faint at my feet, I'd take it as a compliment." Crowley brought the glass to Sam. "Fortify yourself. What I am about to show you will change everything. If you believe me, that is." Crowley took a sip of the strong liquor and gave a satisfied, "Ahh."

Sam's brow knitted curiously before he lowered his attention to the glass Crowley held out to him. He stared at it a moment before lifting his eyes back to Crowley's and tentatively reached for the glass, wrapping his long fingers around its cool smooth surface. "Show me," he said, lifting the glass to his nose, sniffing the substance inside before tilting the rim to his lips, and taking a small sip though his eyes remained glued to Crowley.

Nodding, Crowley went to the desk and ran his finger over a glass cube, almost in the same way one would sift through the pages of a book. "Aha." He tapped on the glass a few times and suddenly, the room went dark and planets and stars and star charts were projected onto the walls and ceiling of the library. Walking around the desk, he moved to a planet that appeared to be suspended in midair very close to them. "This is where we are." He moved his hand over the planet and it turned into a globe. He stopped it. "Specifically, we're here, in the Principality of Castica. Our planet is divided into nine principalities. Your town is nowhere on this planet. Sam, you are not on your Earth. You are nowhere near your Earth. You cannot even see Earth from here using the most powerful telescopes known to us."

Moving next to Sam, he pointed at a far wall, up high near the ceiling. ”Many galaxies away, that blue planet there, is your Earth.”

Startled, Sam staggering back and almost dropped his glass at the first sight of the many floating balls that appeared out of nowhere and hovered within the confines of the room. Mesmerized, his gaze moved between the globe and to Crowley, lips still parting with shock as he listened.

Another Planet? Was this a running joke between these people? Not on Earth? He really had no clue exactly what the man was talking about though he remained silent and listened intently.

"You know the distance between your planet and the sun? This...." he dragged his finger across space, from the blue planet to Castica. "It is hundreds of thousands of times farther." One day, Sam would understand how far they were really talking about, but Crowley knew exact distances would not aid his understanding now. "The peoples of many planets far beyond your Earth travel using many means... ships, magic, pulse bridges... countless ways. You were brought here with Dean's magic. Are things a bit clearer now?"

Sam swallowed hard and slowly tore his eyes away from the things that Crowley had been showing him to look at the man himself, "Like mud," he offered, taken aback and lost by all this information. His schooling had been very limited even by the standards of his home. 

"I don't..." he began only to pause and shake his head, "I never really went to school, my Ma died giving birth to my baby sister and...well, Pa needed my help to take care of her and the farm," he explained. 

Crowley patted Sam's shoulder. "Even if you had gone to the best of your schools, this would be difficult to fathom. Your planet is very backwards. Young, if you prefer," he added. He went back and tapped on the glass cube, bringing the lights back up. "A trip like that... let’s just say it is not often attempted by a single person, no matter how strong their magic." 

"So why did he? Sam interrupted unable to resist asking.

"That, young master, is a question you should put to him. Or search your heart, it'll come to you, whether you’re from a backwards planet or not," Crowley predicted. "Now, are you ready? You need your rest."

Sam sighed heavily in resignation. Well, at least Crowley hadn't totally ignored his question, though he hadn't truly answered it either. He nodded and followed Crowley out the door. 

Ten minutes later, Crowley was ushering Sam into Dean's quarters. They walked through a private study into a large bedroom. The fireplace in the room was taller than Sam, and the four poster bed in the center was twice his length in height. 

"You'll have complete privacy here, the room is sound proofed. You'll have to use the bell pulls," Crowley pointed at them around the room, "to summon anyone. And the windows... well you can only see out. No one can see inside," he said. "I see you still have your drink with you, then I won't offer more."

Sam's brow knitted with confusion as he looked around the room, "I thought my room was elsewhere?" He said. "And why are all the mirrors covered with cloth? What is this place?" 

"You may use your quarters during the day, or if you're ... dismissed. At night, you sleep with His Highness. You're not a very good listener, are you?" Crowley was sure he'd heard Sam being told about the sleeping arrangements. "Good night Sam." This time, Crowley spoke firmly and started to head for the door. "Now, unless you want an army of servants helping you into bed..." 

Sam's lips parted to argue that surely Dean had been joking about that only to snap it shut with the last of his words. He heaved a heavy sigh of resignation and turned to the rather gigantic bed. "Looks big enough I won't have to actually touch him," he mumbled half under his breath as he took a step toward it, placing his drink down on the table nearby. 

Pulling back the covers, he climbed in and sighed softly as he settled back against the plump pillows. Maybe he would be lucky and the man would not even come to bed, or at the very least, not this one. He allowed his eyes to slip closed, a contented smile curling his lips. 

*

When Dean entered his bed chamber, the room was lit only by the light of the large fire. When he cleared his throat to announce his presence and got no reaction, he realized Sam was asleep.

Stripping quickly and dropping his clothes onto a chair, he walked to the large bed, taking a long moment to study Sam who was curled up on his side. He’d pulled the midnight blue bed clothes tight around him but a slash of red silk peeked above them. So the boy favored nightclothes. How quaint. Dean’s lips curved into a smile. At least he’d had the sense to choose red. It suited him.

He looked so sweet and innocent in sleep, and Dean knew it would always be so, not matter how much of his innocence was lost over time. Dean’s gaze swept over Sam’s face, noting the dark lashes fluttering softly and his slightly swollen lips. The knowledge that he was responsible for that had heat surging between his legs.

Dean climbed into the bed and pulled the covers down to about Sam’s waist. He moved closer, fitting his hips against Sam’s ass, his breath hitching slightly at the sensations rocking his body. Slowly, he ran his hand along the column of Sam’s neck, down his chest, and then easily undid the silk belt of his robe. Moving his hand back up Sam’s body, he started to ease the material off Sam’s shoulder. Under the flickering firelight, his skin appeared in beautiful shades of bronze and gold, so smooth, so damned perfect... so unlike the scarred half of Dean’s own body. 

Settling down, and caressing Sam’s chest and bare shoulder, and grinding his arousal against Sam’s firm ass, Dean kissed Sam’s neck. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, how special to me. How you affect me,” he whispered thickly.

Sam moaned softly in his sleep and snuggled back against the warmth behind him. A smile graced the corners of his lips, though he shivered slightly and reached for the blankets, tugging them up once more. “S’cold,” he mumbled in his sleep. “Stop stealin’ the blankets, Megan.” 

“Want to be your blanket,” Dean chuckled, his voice low and raspy against Sam’s flesh. “I can make it hotter than fire in here.” With Sam’s ass wiggling against his already hard cock, it was a promise Dean knew he could keep.

Sam’s brow creased at the strange, raspy voice he heard in what had to be his dreams. A voice he knew was not part of his household and did not belong to anyone in the town. Not even the strange old man who everyone said was an ogre. 

“Who...?” Sam rolled over onto his back, one arm flopping against what felt like a solid wall; a warm solid wall of bare skin. 

His eyes shot open and he gasped in a breath quickly scooting away from the man in his bed and scrambling for the covers, pulling them up so they tucked beneath his chin. “What are you doing here?” He asked, eyes wide. 

In his mind he heard the maid and Crowley telling him that he would be sleeping in Dean’s bed and that Dean would like him in the red robe and underthings. He’d heard it, he’d feared it, but deep down he supposed he really hadn’t believed it, despite the things that happened earlier in the evening. 

“Keeping you warm, in _my_ bed,” Dean answered. He sat up and reached for Sam, mentally ordering the flames of the fire to die down, in order to be certain his face would not be visible. “Let me hold you.”

“N-n-no,” Sam cried anxiously as he shrank back from him. “I don’t...I mean...can’t we just...I-I’m really tired,” he stammered, eyes wide and fearful. 

“Sam, enough.” Dean’s voice cracked like the sound of the whip he was well versed in using. “I’m not going to argue. Come sleep by me. I want to hold you.” He lifted the covers a little, pulling out that part of the bedding that was stuck under Sam’s body. “Move.”

Sam cringed at the tone of the man’s voice. He scrambled to do as he was told despite the pounding of his heart and the trembling of his limbs. He laid down next to the man with no room between them, the man’s body heat radiating against him and warming him in a way that he really didn’t want to think about. He squeezed his eyes closed and prayed for sleep that he knew now would never come.

Settling down again, Dean closed his arm around Sam and drew him close, giving him no quarter. Spooning behind him, he pressed against Sam again, rocking his hips twice until his cock was lodged against the cleft of Sam’s ass. “That’s better.” Pulling Sam’s robe open again, he ran his hand up his chest, closing his eyes and nuzzling his ear. “Your heart is beating hard. It should be beating from excitement, not fear.”

Sam didn’t answer, didn’t know what to say, didn’t want the man yelling again but he knew that he had nothing to tell him that would not incite his wrath. He swallowed hard and released a breath before drawing another gulp of air in and holding it and trying to remain perfectly still. 

“Are you afraid?” Cupping the side of Sam’s face, Dean turned it slightly towards him. 

A soft whimper tore from Sam’s throat before his lashes fluttered as he slowly opened his eyes to stare up at the man next to him. “I - I don’t wanna say,” he murmured. 

“And here I thought your ‘pa’ had raised you to be polite.” Dean took a deep breath, trying not to get impatient. “What do you imagine I’m going to do to you if you tell me the truth?”

“I - I, my Pa did teach me to be polite, but I don’t want to make you angry... I thought that you would want that too,” he replied tentatively. 

“I am not used to anyone ignoring me or refusing to answer my questions. That angers me. Don’t do it again.” Dean very deliberately ground his hips against Sam’s ass and distinctly asked. “Are you afraid?”

“Y-y-yes,” stammered Sam fearfully. He squeezed his eyes closed once more and swallowed hard. “Do it,” he whispered as he curled his hands into tight fists, lips and chin trembling along with his entire body. 

“Do what? Hmm?” Feeling Sam tremble, Dean held him tighter. “Do what I want? What I really want?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave. 

Sam whimpered and nodded his head, knowing that the man who held him so close, who had done the things to him that he had earlier, had made him give up his seed in front of others while he’d been bound like some kind of breeding horse, wanted more from him. He knew, even in his innocence that he wanted the one thing that he’d been taught to save for marriage to a nice girl. Maybe a Sunday school teacher or someone who helped the blind. A nice girl, someone who would accept his sick sister and who would help him care for his Pa in his later years. 

Sam’s tongue darted out, licking across his lips as another whimper left him and he held perfectly rigid, waiting for the nightmare to become reality.


	5. Chapter 5

“Alright then.” Leaning in, Dean covered Sam’s already parted lips with his mouth. So sweet, so innocent, and the slight but futile resistance, inflaming Dean. Making him want Sam, want him in all the ways he knew how to take a man. And yet, Dean kept a tight leash on his lust. He pushed his tongue inside and stroked the roof of Sam’s mouth, then tangled it with Sam’s. Slowly, but surely, he engaged Sam’s tongue in a dance, moaning softly when he wanted much more from this man... this boy in his bed. 

Despite himself, Sam slowly relaxed into the kiss and lifting his hand, started to stroke the man’s hair, toying in the soft spikes before slipping it downward along the side of his head to cup his face. He gasped in a breath, tearing his lips away from Dean’s. He scrambled quickly away, toppling out of the bed and landing on the floor with a thud. He stared wide eyed up at the man in the bed, his eyes squinting to try and make out what it was that he had felt against his palm. 

“Y-your face,” Sam stammered. 

“Get back on the damned bed,” Dean roared, his anger flaring, even as he felt like he’d been sucker punched. It took everything he had to prevent himself from covering his face with his hand, or walking out of the room. 

Sam continued to stare despite knowing that he shouldn’t, that it was rude and improper, but some part of him wanted to see, wanted to know more about what had happened to Dean. Had he been burned in a fire? Beaten? Was he always like this? Was it a deformity from birth? Questions swam in his head as he reached a trembling hand out toward the bed and slowly did as he was commanded, crawling back onto the bed and underneath the blankets. 

Dean stared at Sam in the dark, the distance between them suddenly feeling as far as the distance between their planets. He’d heard the horror in the boy’s voice. It had been enough to send him clear off the bed. One man... one boy had caught his interest in decades and it had to be someone from a planet full of repressed people, someone who hadn’t known him before, who could only see him as the monster he’d been turned into. 

He could practically feel Sam’s gaze on the welts and scars on the damaged side of his face. And his people thought he could find love with this boy. _Hah_. Banging his head back against the headboard, “Go to sleep,” he snapped.

Sam blinked in confusion as he laid in the bed, his head turned toward the man next to him. He licked his lips as he pondered the sudden change in the man’s demeanor. He didn’t want to be rude but he’d found that people were less upset if you asked what happened to them rather than staring when they had a deformity. 

“What - what happened to you?” Sam asked softly, ignoring the order. 

“What happened?” Dean gave a sniff, staring at the fire. “A bear-creature swiped me. I was scarred in battle. I was born this way. Does it really matter?” He turned his head, his eyes gleaming in the dark. “Aren’t you brave? Talking to the monster.” There was a hard, bitter edge to his tone. 

“I...” Sam started but then allowed his words to trail off. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be impolite,” he murmured. He was silent a long moment, brow creased as he thought over the words Dean had barked at him. 

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Sam finally murmured. “I mean, I don’t think that because of your face. I think that a person’s looks shouldn’t matter. If people think you’re a monster, maybe it’s not your looks that are the problem.” 

“You to forget that one minute ago you were as far from me as you could possibly get. After you touched my face,” Dean bluntly pointed out. It wasn’t easy for Dean to forget. He was sure he’d obsess over it, or vacillate between not caring and nursing his hurt. Ridiculous, to be hurt over what one little peasant from a nothing planet thought, and yet, there it was. 

Sam sighed, “I said I was sorry,” he mumbled before shaking his head and turning onto his side, squeezing his eyes closed in an attempt to get some sleep. 

“Yeah. You did.” Dean turned back to the fire, lost in his own thoughts and wallowing in thoughts of the past. Pulling his knees up, he closed his arms around them. Once, everything he’d touched had turned to gold. He’d turned heads as he walked. Once, even someone as repressed as Sam would likely have been seduced by him. Now. He swallowed over the hard lump in his throat, glancing at the spot on the floor Sam had flown to in fear. Now, he was a mere shadow of the man he’d been. 

* 

When Sam woke, the room was awash with light and the fire in the hearth had died down to mere embers allowing the room to get much colder than it had been at night. 

He stretched and rolled over, nearly forgetting that he wasn’t sleeping alone. Lifting his head from the bed, he gazed down into the unobstructed view of the Dean’s face seeing it clearly for the first time. 

It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had felt last night against his palm, though the skin itself was an angry red color along the lines of scarring as though the area had not been treated well. He frowned softly noting how it seemed to follow the pattern of his skin and dip lower on his body. He realized the scarring wasn’t limited to one side of Dean’s face. 

Rising up onto one elbow, he leaned over Dean and reached out to slowly peel back the sheet so he could see how far the scarring went. He frowned at the way it traveled along one whole side of his body and tapered off at his hip then slowly disappeared altogether. Releasing the sheet, he moved his hand to the end of the scarring at Dean’s hip and ran the pads of his fingertips over the roughened skin. 

“This isn’t what makes you a monster,” he mumbled softly to himself with a somewhat sad tinge to his voice.

Awakened by the movements of the mattress, Dean had been holding his breath during Sam’s inspection. Now, he clamped his hand around Sam’s wrist, stopping his further examination. “Should I be flattered?” 

Sam sucked in a startled breath and tried to tug out of Dean’s grasp, his eyes wide with fear. “I’m sorry, I was just curious,” he quickly blurted. 

“Curiosity kills the feline. It’s a saying here,” Dean said, refusing to release Sam’s wrist and staring up at him. “You satisfied your curiosity. What do you think?” It was quite likely the worst question he could ask. Hadn’t he tossed and turned all night, his mind torturing him with thoughts of what Sam must think of him. He’d planned to wake before dawn, but it was his cursed luck that he’d only found sleep in the early hours of the morning.

Sam’s tongue darted out, licking across his lips as he stopped trying to pull away and considered Dean’s question. 

“I think....I think it’s kinda sad...what happened to you. I don’t...” he shook his head, “I don’t think you’ve had this from birth, you’re too sensitive about it and too old for it to still bother you if that were the case. And I don’t think that it’s the scars that make you a monster. I think it’s the way you feel about them...and about others that...well, that’s what makes people...” he swallowed hard before squeaking out, “shy away from you.” 

Dean gave a hard tug that had Sam sprawled over his chest. “Prove it. Kiss me,” he demanded, his gaze dropping to Sam’s lips. The boy would never know how exposed and vulnerable Dean felt at this moment.

Sam’s eyes lowered to Dean’s lips and as his heart began to pound in his chest he told himself that it was stupid to be afraid of this, that he’d kissed this man many times already and if he was going to go to hell for it anyway, he already had a first class ticket there. He nodded and drew in a breath. Eyes closed, he dipped his head and kissed Dean’s lips tenderly, the way he would kiss his sister good night, before kissing him in the way Dean taught him last night. He allowed the tip of his tongue to tease at the man’s lips before slipping between them to tease at his palate and then tentatively sliding his tongue alongside Dean’s. 

Surprised and shocked, perhaps for the very first time in his life, Dean was slow on the uptake. But once his mind caught up with the fact that Sam was actually kissing him, he released Sam’s wrist and brought his hand up behind Sam’s head. Slowly, he twisted his tongue around Sam’s, not taking control but guiding him, showing him how pleasurable kissing could be.

Sam made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan when Dean cupped his head and began to move his tongue against his own, afraid that he was going to push them farther than Sam was ready to go, like he had in the dungeon. When he didn’t, Sam sighed softly and relaxed, nearly going limp in Dean’s arms as he continued to tentatively map out the man’s mouth. 

For a second, Dean thought Sam would back away, that he’d bolt. When he, instead, relaxed into the kiss, Dean wrapped his free arm around him. Resisting the temptation to pull him closer, he gave Sam free rein to explore. 

When Sam started to lift his head, Dean raised his own, chasing Sam’s lips, sucking his lower one into his mouth. Coaxing him back down, Dean swept his hand up Sam’s back, kneading his shoulder. His lips burned, burned for more and every cell in his body was aware of Sam. 

Sam slowly withdrew his tongue from Dean’s mouth and pressed a hand against his chest when Dean tried to chase after his mouth once again as he slowly tried to pull it away. “Wait,” he directed. 

Dean laid back, his eyes laser focused on Sam’s face, searching his eyes. 

“Just...wait,” Sam repeated as he gulped in breaths. 

Blowing out a breath, Sam he licked his lips and shifted his gaze from Dean’s eyes to the scars that marred the man’s face. He glanced back into Dean’s eyes for a moment before looking back at the nasty jagged red lines that ran along the side of Dean’s face. He slowly leaned in, eyes fluttering closed as he moved. His lips lightly pressed against the jagged rough skin of the man’s scars, kissing the skin lightly, the same way he would sooth his sister’s boo-boos. 

Dean flinched. His fingers bit into Sam’s shoulder and he pressed his back down into the mattress, as if trying to open space between them. As Sam’s lips skimmed over his scars, scars that had very rarely been touched by another, and never before kissed, he felt his throat close up. “What are you doing?” His mind was a storm of emotions. “Stop. Stop. I don’t need your pity,” he said, pushing Sam up, his eyes full of suspicion.

Sam’s eyes sprang open with fear and confusion. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, afraid that he had made Dean angry yet again. “I didn’t mean any harm.” 

Dean sat up and ran his hand over his face. He couldn’t fathom why Sam had kissed his scarred side. Over the past decades, many had kissed him, but all concentrated on the unmarred side of his face. Did Sam pity him? Did he kiss his scars out of fear of repercussions if he didn’t, or perhaps in the hope of getting something out of him?

Stealing a glance at the boy and seeing fear reflected in his eyes, he gave a sigh. “Thank you. For the kiss. I enjoyed it,” he said stiffly, swinging his legs around over the side of the bed and setting them down on the plush rug. 

When he stood up, the bedclothes fell off him and he knew Sam would see the scars on his back. This was as good a time as any. “Get dressed for breakfast. You may share my bathing shower, if you wish. If not, go to your chambers and the servants will assist you.” 

“Are - are you angry with me?” Sam asked softly, needing to know. 

“No.” Dean turned to look over his shoulder at him. Turning fully, he walked around the bed, put two fingers under Sam’s jaw and lifted it up so their gazes locked. “Not angry. Having a hard time understanding you. That’s all. Shower with me?” 

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, “Will you tell me about them?” He inquired. “The scars.” 

“If you want,” Dean whispered, putting his hand out for Sam’s. 

Sam’s gaze lowered to Dean’s groin briefly before lifting his eyes, a blush stealing over his features. He forced himself to be brave and reach for Dean’s hand, throwing back the blankets and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

Giving a rare smile, Dean closed his hand around Sam’s and started to walk. Out of habit, he kept Sam to his right, away from the scarred side of his body. 

They’d crossed the room and were about to enter the ante chamber when a soft knock sounded, followed by Crowley’s entrance. The man halted mid-stride. “I see you two love birds don’t need anything. I’ll make myself scarce then.”

When there was just a silence, he backed out of the room. “Let’s not all argue with me at once.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean tugged Sam through the door, past his dressing chamber, and into his large washroom. Like the rest of his suite, there were no mirrors in the room. In one corner, there was a large sunken pool, surrounded by narrow pillars. Graduated stairs went both into the pool, and also rose far above it, to a cushioned resting place, or bed, against the ceiling to floor windows.

“The toilets are over there,” Dean said, pointing toward two doorways. “There are extra toothbrushes in here,” he walked to the sinks and reached into one of the cabinets to pull out toiletries for Sam. “The servants are going to be aghast, I’m doing their work for them,” he chuckled. 

Sam returned the smile that Dean offered him and then it didn’t seem to disappear at any time after that as the man led him into a room that had his eyes going wide and his mouth falling slack like the country bumpkin that he was. He turned his attention toward where Dean had said the “toilets” were located and Sam’s nose crinkled as he tried to first think what a “toilet” would be and then when he settled on the idea what Dean must be referring to a chamber pot had him confused and dismayed as to _why_ he would be telling him that when he wasn’t ill nor were they still in bed. After another moment of staring at Dean with his nose still crinkled, to the point that he just knew his Pa would tell him it was going to stay what way forever if he didn’t cut it out, he gasped in a breath and his eyes widened as he finally figured it out. 

“You mean the outhouse,” he concluded with a soft chuckle that bordered on a giggle. 

When Dean mention a “toothbrush” Sam frowned once more as he tried to figure out why in the world someone would _brush_ their _teeth_ , there was no hair on them!

His gaze lifted to Dean’s features when he heard him chuckle and Sam’s smile widened at the sight of the one on the man’s face. “It suits you,” he murmured, “Smiling, I mean.” 

“It suits you. _Flirting_ , I mean,” Dean answered in the same tone. “Go on, take care of business and we’ll meet back here for a shower,” he said, slapping Sam’s ass lightly and almost laughing out loud at the boy’s expression as he headed for the other toilet.

*

A short time later, Dean was brushing his teeth at the sink when he heard Sam padding over the marble floor and turned. Pulling his sudsy brush out of his mouth, he used it to point to the other sink, then started brushing his teeth again.

Sam looked down at the bristled stick laying on the counter then back up at Dean. He lowered his gaze once more and tentatively stepped forward, reaching for the brush. He again looked over at Dean to see exactly how it was that Dean was using it and what he was doing. Lifting the brush to his mouth as he watched Dean intently he opened his mouth and stuck the bristles inside copying what he saw Dean doing. He wasn’t exactly certain why his wasn’t lathering up the way that the brush of the man next him was but he didn’t question it, simply mimicked the motions. 

“Mmph... mph...” Dean pointed at the tooth cleansing paste, then shaking his head when Sam merely looked down and back at him and continued to dry brush his teeth. Pulling the brush out of his own mouth, Dean spit out. “Are you punishing your teeth and gums? Have something against lather?”

Sam slowly pulled the brush from his mouth, his brow creased in confusion. “Huh?” He inquired with a glance toward the strange looking silver unit that Dean had gestured toward before lifting his baffled gaze once more. 

Reaching for the glass on the shelf in front of him, Dean filled it with water, then rinsed his mouth, swishing the water back and forth before spitting. Then he threw back his head and started to gargle, doing it far more rudely than any prince of Castica ought to, but glancing at Sam for his reaction.

Sam stared at Dean, both confused and in slight awe of the things that he was doing. He’d never seen such a thing done before and it sort of tickled his funny bone to watch, a giggled laugh escaping him. 

Spitting out the water, Dean grinned. “Think that’s funny, huh? Your turn,” he announced, walking over and standing behind Sam. Closing his hand around Sam’s fist, he pushed it so that the toothbrush he was holding moved under the silver spigot attached to the tiled wall. A fraction of a second later, paste covered the bristle. Next, Dean moved Sam hand again, this time positioning the toothbrush under the faucet, wetting it. “Now... brush.” He didn’t release Sam’s hand but nudged it upwards.

Sam slowly lifted the brush but not to his mouth, instead he lifted it to his nose and sniffed the white paste, his brows lifting nearly to his hairline as he smelled the fresh minty scent. His head turned toward Dean, eyes wide with wonder before a grin curled his lips and he quickly turned back, shoving the brush into his mouth. He scrubbed his teeth with the bristles the same way he had seen Dean do then spit and rinsed his brush before gulping in handfuls of water and tilting his head back tried to do the same thing that he had seen Dean do only to wind up choking and sputtering on the water that went down his windpipe and up his nose. 

Dean slapped him on the back, laughing and explaining, “This is _one_ instance where _swallowing_ is not good.” Knowing it went right over Sam’s head didn’t lessen his amusement. Grabbing a small towel, he dabbed Sam’s mouth and chin. “We cleanse our teeth twice a day, morning and night.” 

He stepped back, then walked to the showers that were out in the open, with no enclosures. They were close to the windows and would allow them to look out into the gardens, though there were fewer blooms than in times past. Outside the castle walls, it was a constant winter. Inside, it was cooler than it out to be, but all four seasons did visit them, and the farm fields, thus keeping the occupants from starving. 

Although he could have made the waters flow just by using his powers, he didn’t want to remind Sam of them. The morning had been too pleasant, more pleasant than he could have imagined, to risk ruining it with talk of demons. He manually turned the faucets, and then headed back, the water raining down hard behind him.

Once Sam stopped choking to death, he used the towel that Dean had left him to wash up in the sink only to freeze in mid motion when he heard water raining down. His eyes widened once more and he felt like the most backwoods idiot on the planet for having started to clean himself with the wash cloth. What Dean meant, when he’d said ‘shower,’ only now making sense to him. 

“I didn’t realize you could make it rain indoors,” he murmured, embarrassed by his lack of understanding. 

“Indoor toilets. Indoor baths and showers. I gather you haven’t had that pleasure?” Seeing the red staining Sam’s cheeks, Dean teased, “Don’t worry, it won’t cause you to melt away. But you will have to take your _armor_ off.” Reaching out, he started to untie the belt around Sam’s waist, tugging at the knot, and glancing up to meet Sam’s gaze.

Sam caught his bottom lip between his lips as his attention lowered to the sash of his robe as Dean started to untie it. His gaze met the man’s as Dean looked up at him and he forced a small smile for him before lowering his attention once more to watch Dean’s nimble fingers work open his clothing. 

“Your world is nice and warm. Why they teach you to wrap yourselves up and hide, I will never understand,” Dean mused. 

The belt slipped from his fingers to the ground, and the robe hung open. “You’re beautiful. Every inch of you,” he said, his heated gaze slowly traveling up from the waist band of Sam’s silk pants to his abs, chest, and then meeting his eyes again. “Drop the robe.” 

Sam swallowed hard and lifted his hands to each side of the robe, shrugging out of it, but rather than allowing it to fall to the dirty floor, that wasn’t so dirty, he caught it in mid fall and folded it carefully in his hands. “Okay,” he muttered, the word barely a whisper of breath, “Now what?”

“Have you never bathed? I distinctly remember you bathing last night,” Dean said stroking his chin. “Well, never mind. Let it not be said that I’m not patient or that I’m above _servicing_ others.” Naturally, that too would fly over Sam’s head, but this wouldn’t, he thought, grasping his pants and pulling them down, one side at a time, as he lowered himself down. Unlike Sam, he didn’t shy away from the sight of a man’s cock. Instead, he licked his lips and looked up, wondering if Sam remembered where his mouth had been only last night, in the velvet dungeons.

Sam’s cheeks reddened. He opened his mouth to answer that he had but that he’d never bathed _with_ someone, at least not like this. It was different when a group of other boys your age all jumped into the lagoon with you and you shouted and splashed one another playfully. This, he was relatively certain, would not be like that. 

His mouth snapped shut a moment later, his flush deepening as he looked down to a sight not unlike the one that he’d seen the previous evening, one that took his breath away. His dick twitched with interest at the idea of revisiting that even but he quickly reached down and cupped himself in the hopes that Dean hadn’t noticed. 

“Ah... usually it’s customary to pick up your foot, so I can get these off.” Dean did his best to clamp down on his laughter, but his eyes were dancing with merriment. “Feet. You know, the things attached to your legs?” 

Sam blushed profusely, the crimson stain spreading from his cheeks down his neck to his chest and up to the tips of his ears as he ducked his head and nodded mutely, quickly lifting one foot and then the other so that Dean could pull off his pants. He had to release his cock and lay his hand against Dean’s shoulder as he lifted his leg. Once his clothes were removed and his feet flat against the floor, he quickly withdrew his hand as though Dean’s skin burned his palm. “Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly.

“You do realize there’s nothing to hide that I haven’t seen?” Rising, Dean smacked Sam’s ass again, grinning at the sound of flesh slapping flesh. “Hit the shower, come on. You’ll enjoy it.”

Not willing to allow Sam to loiter, Dean grabbed his free hand and dragged him straight to the showers, looking up as the hot water rained over him. “Mmm. I think we need some steam. Maybe then you’ll be less shy,” he said, pressing a silver button on the wall. Immediately, steam billowed around them, as if piped in from the walls and held within the shower area by invisible walls. 

Sam squinted against the water that fell around him and matted his longish hair to his head, causing the water to drip into his eyes. He wrapped his arms around himself and when the steam filled the area his arms fell to his sides as he turned, trying to understand where the steam had come from. 

He shook his head as he turned his attention to Dean, “We don’t...” he allowed his words to trail off. A slightly strained chuckle left him before it became more pure and he grinned at Dean. 

“This is amazing,” he said as he lifted his arms to the fall of water and then tilted his head back, catching droplets in his mouth the way he used to do with rain. 

“Yes. Amazing.” Dean was watching Sam. The boy was a breath of fresh air, that was when he wasn’t being irritating and giving him the silent treatment. And his effect on Dean, both on his body, and apparently on his disposition, that was quite amazing. 

As the water ran down Sam’s body, making his scarlet lips and his skin glisten, Dean was torn between pulling him into his arms and enjoying him, and just enjoying Sam having a bit of fun. Since their arrival, this was the first time he’d seen the fear eradicated from Sam’s eyes and their conversation was flowing much better. The latter won out.

“The shower obeys ‘voice commands’.” His lips curled into a mischief filled smile. “Cold water, over guest only.” 

Sam’s eyes widened before the cold water gushed out over him and he let out a loud squawk. He then turned toward where the water seemed to be coming from and lifted his hands, catching it in them before turning and hurling the handfuls of water at Dean, splashing him directly in the face with a good amount of the coldness. Sam’s head tilted back with his laughter despite the cold water that poured down over him. His arms wrapped around his shivering body as he lowered his head and gazed at Dean, his broad smile still curving his lips and dancing in his eyes. 

Raising his arms to protect himself from the icy water, Dean spoke. “You know, you could just come over here and stand in the warm water with me. And that was _not_ a screech,” he added, realizing that he was actually ‘playing.’ He was far too old to do that, at least to engage in this sort of play, and yet... 

Sam chuckled and nodded, “You sounded just like Maggie Hildebrand when I splashed her with water from the well,” he teased with a sage nod. 

He stepped closer to Dean and without thought reached for him, wrapping his arms around the man and dragged him back under the icy spray as laughter continued to tumble from his lips. 

This time, nothing short of a screech past Dean’s lips. “Normalize. Normalize temperature,” he shouted, shocked by the cold water and Sam’s boldness, in holding him like this and in daring to bring him under the icy water. “Harder,” he ordered, closing his own arms around Sam as the water pounded over them in a massage, and the steam began to rise again. 

Letting his hand slide to Sam’s ass, he cupped it. “And who sounds like this Maggie now?” he asked, grinning at Sam’s sudden hiss of breath. 

Sam’s wide grin slowly fell away as Dean’s arms lifted to encircle him in his embrace and his hands slid along Sam’s body to cup his ass. A gasping breath left Sam, the sound tinged with a nearly high pitched squeak. 

His tongue darted out, licking across his lips as he gazed into Dean’s face. He started to try and pull back but when his gaze found the scars marring the skin on one side of Dean’s face, he remained, even going so far as to lean in slightly against the man. 

“Tell me,” he coaxed soberly, “About the scars.”

Hearing his scars be brought up again, Dean initially stiffened. But it was hard to stay that way when Sam was looking at him, his gaze soft and his eyes wide, and relaxing into his arms instead of shrinking or pulling away. “So the way to your heart is not through your stomach, but through stories. I’ll have to practice my story telling.” 

Dean took a breath. “Do you know how old I am? Can you guess?”

Sam shrugged a shoulder, “Old,” he replied with a teasing grin, “At least thirty,” he said before a cackle worked its way out from between his lips. His smile remained as he stared into Dean’s eyes and shook his head, “Tell me,” he softly cajoled.

”Close. I’m 29, or would be, if things had run their natural course. You may not believe me, any more than you believe the distances I’ve brought you,” he warned. Without thought, he dipped his head and brushed his mouth against Sam’s soft, wet lips, as if to gain courage and like it was the most natural thing to do. He wished they were making love, instead of discussing things that could not be changed.

“My lands once prospered, my people prospered. Now... you briefly saw the frozen wasteland that the lands outside the castle walls have become.” He wasn’t sure how much of it Sam had absorbed, having just been whisked away from everything he’d known. “And I... well, I looked nothing like this,” he turned the scarred side of his face away from Sam. “This was me.”

Sam was silent as Dean began to speak. He was surprised that he had not pulled back, shied away from the touch of the man’s lips to his own. “But then?” Sam inquired. 

Sam pulled and arm out from around the man and reached up, cupping Dean beneath his chin and using his gentle grasp to ease his head back around so that he faced him. “And then?” He repeated softly.

“And then, _all_ was lost,” Dean said, his voice edged in bitterness. “A man... a man-witch proposed we play in the dungeon. I had other plans. He felt spurned.” Licking his lips, Dean remembered the man’s rantings as if they’d happened just yesterday. 

“He called me vain and had a few other choice insults. I ordered his removal from my palace. It should have been an easy matter. I would have forgotten about him within moments and gone on with my life, but...” His fingers bit into Sam’s shoulders. He closed his eyes as he spoke, wishing he could ban the images from his mind. “He cursed me and my principality. He ravaged my body with lighting, and he ravaged the land with weather. Most of my people... all but those within the castle walls... are gone. Frozen. And we are frozen in time. Alone. Unable to leave. The life of any who leaves these lands for more than half a day is forfeit. It’s been this way for one hundred and seven years. Boggles even my mind.” He opened his eyes. “This is the part where you call me _liar_.”

Sam searched Dean’s features, he had no idea if the man was lying or not after the things he had seen and had never believed in before. He swallowed hard as his gaze lowered briefly before lifting once more to Dean’s. 

“But what about when I go home?” He inquired instead. 

“Hmm?” Dean’s eyes flashed in warning, his grip tightening possessively. 

“Go home,” Sam repeated. “You promised I could go and yet you said that if people leave for more than half a day...” he responded, panic in the depths of his hazel eyes. 

“For a visit,” Dean said very distinctly. “You’re not of Castica. The curse won’t affect you. Let’s not talk of your leaving, you have only just arrived.”

Sam drew in a shuddering breath in attempt to settle the fear and panic that had squeezed his heart and pressed against his chest. He allowed his eyes to flutter shut as he nodded and blew out a slow breath. 

Dean felt his good mood slipping away at the reminder that given a choice, Sam would leave him without a second thought, to go live in that hovel with his family. “I can give you riches. Servants. More space than your entire farm. Luxuries you’ve never dreamed of. And this...” he gave Sam a hot, lingering kiss. “And this... and this,” he whispered thickly, groping him lightly in ways he knew from experience would arouse even the most reluctant of partners. “Won’t you stop thinking of them, or the things you’ve lost, and think of the things you’ve gained?”

Sam sucked in a breath as his eyes widened and he stumble stepped back from Dean’s touch though he didn’t release him. “I...I don’t care about those things. Things are just that, _things._ Nothing the world has to offer can replace _love_ ,” he explained. 

“Love can’t be bought? I had a palace full of people who felt differently.” Dean released Sam suddenly. “How about a place? Can’t you fall for a place?” Putting his hand out, he waved it under the gel dispenser, “lemon-wood,” he said, knowing the scent would be just right on Sam.

Sam blinked and his own arms fell to his sides, stunned by the way he’d been released so abruptly. 

“If they thought love could be bought then it wasn’t real love at all,” he concluded. “A place?” He asked, tilting his head in confusion. “I didn’t mean to anger you, _again_ , I just wanted to be sure that I could still return home as you had promised. I miss my family.” 

“And there is no room in your heart to love others, or other places.” It wasn’t a question, it was just what Dean expected. He avoided Sam’s eyes and wiping the gel onto a washcloth, he started to lather it on Sam’s chest, moving lower with each circular motion of his hand.

Sam’s mouth moved but no words came out at first though his brow furrowed. “I never said that,” he corrected. “I just...it’s not like I know anyone here really. Just you and Crowley,” he said, a smile slowly curving his lips. “I like Crowley, he’s nice. And funny too. I don’t feel as...out of place around him.” 

Dean gave a grunt. As if he hadn’t realized that. Or noticed that of the two of them, Crowley was the one who got the smiles and accolades. “Maybe in a few weeks or years or centuries,” he said.

“Centuries?” Sam asked incredulously, eyes wide; his mind having fearfully grabbed onto that single word. “No, I - I’m not gonna be here for centuries.” 

He had a family to get home to, a sister that needed him even if she was now healed; and a father who was getting older, ailing and would need his strength to lean on.

The corners of his lips quirked upward tentatively, “Y-you’re kidding, right? Surely you must be kidding,” he deduced with a chuckle. “People don’t even _live_ for centuries.” 

“Weren’t you listening? I told you, it’s been over a century since the curse was laid on my principality. Nothing changes here, no one grows old.” There was also the fact that they were technologically and magically advanced, thus it was not unheard of for people to live to a hundred fifty or so, but they did not remain perfectly preserved in their youth and it was not worth mentioning. Running the washcloth down between Sam’s legs, Dean’s gaze flicked up to meet Sam’s.

A crimson stain instantly spread over Sam’s features as Dean’s hand found its way to his most private area and he stumbled stepped backward a little. His eyes tightened skeptically as he eyed Dean, mulling over what the man had said. “You also said that the curse would not affect me because I’m not from here,” he challenged. 

“Ah, so you _were_ listening.” Closing his hand around Sam’s cock, he stroked it several times, his soapy hand gliding up and down. Only when he felt Sam start to harden, he released him, though he sported a smug smile as he dropped down to wash Sam’s legs and made sure his mouth was very close to his cock. “I said you could leave and be free of the curse. I never said that you would be free of it during your time here.”

Sam gasped in a breath, his eyes widening slightly as his gaze lowered to Dean, watching the man’s hand slide along the length of his dick. He swallowed hard and tried to think past the pleasurable feelings that we curling in the pit of his belly. 

“So,” he began only to pause, his cheeks stained a deep rose hue that he was nearly certain he would sport for the rest of his days. “You speak in riddles, only telling half-truths,” he surmised with a nod, his voice slightly hoarse with arousal. “My Pa calls that _lying_.” 

“Really? Well maybe you’ll want to take a flogger to me tonight,” Dean said silkily. “I deserve a whippin’” he added, mimicking the earthling’s accent.

Sam pressed his lips together and his gaze turned dark and angry. “Just because my Pa taught me not to lie doesn’t mean that we’re the ones who are backwards,” he retorted testily. 

‘You know, you talk about wantin’ me to like it here. Wantin’ me to wanna be with you, spend time with you. Maybe you oughtta try bein’ honest with me instead’a insultin’ me all the time or tryin’ to _touch_ me. Ya know, not even the ladies at Miss Brigit's in the city near us are like you. For all their words from the windows, they _still_ wait for fellas to come to them,” he argued. 

“And you weren’t insulting me when you implied I am a liar?” Dean stood up and looked at the incensed youth. “You’re beautiful when you’re all riled up. Has anyone ever told you that?” he asked, running both hands up Sam’s sides.

Sam released a frustrated breath before quickly reaching for his hands. “Listen, alright?” He implored, still holding onto Dean’s hands tightly. “I was taught that two men don’t.... But okay, if I’m goin’ to hell fer that then I’m already doomed, but; if you’re tryin’ to woo me you’re goin’ about it all wrong.” 

Seeing Dean’s blank look, Sam went on. “Don’t you have a Ma or Pa to teach you these things? You’re supposed to take a...well, I’m not a lady,” he allowed half under his breath. “I figure that you saw me and decided that you liked me, right?” He inquired with a nod to his own words. “Then, _do_ things with me,” he instructed only to shake his head at the light that came into Dean’s eyes. 

Dean’s grin widened and he stepped a little closer.

“Not _that_ ,” Sam corrected. “You never even asked me my full name. What do you think it is, Sam Sam? What about my favorite color, did you ever ask me that? Or what I like to do for fun? Invite me for a glass’a lemonade or for a long walk where we can talk and get to know each other, or take me to the fair,” he instructed. “And I don’t care if you don’t have actual fairs here, you _know_ darn good and well what I mean.” 

Noting that his words seemed to have no effect on Dean, Sam sighed heavily in defeat and shook his head as his eyes searched Dean’s. “I really don’t think your problem is what you think it is. When I look at you, I don’t see the scars, it’s your attitude that needs to see the Doc,” he murmured. 

“I have no attitude,” Dean said, crossing his arms. “I did ask you to have a drink. More than once. And I took you somewhere better than a fair, or have you forgotten last night?” he demanded.

Sam frowned, “You wanted me to watch people having sex,” he spat out. “And the drink was not innocent either. I have to wonder whether those drinks were in league with the devil himself,” he said, crossing his own arms over his chest. 

They stared at each other for a full minute, and then Dean sliced his hand through the air, “I don’t understand you. You are incomprehensible.” He stalked out of the stream of water and the billowing steam, grabbed a towel and continued out of the room, shouting “Crowley!”

Barely any time passed before the man was on Dean’s heels, “Yes, Highness.”

“Find out everything about the rules of wooing someone on Earth, and do it quickly. Before I throttle a certain someone.”

“Yes, Highness.”

“Well, what are you waiting for,” Dean snarled, throwing his towel down into a chair in his ante chamber and reaching into the closet for clothing. 

“For Sam to finish his shower.”

“He’s finished.” 

Bowing, Crowley backed out of the room and headed for the bathing room.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam stared after Dean as he walked out, completely befuddled and confused. He had thought that he had been perfectly clear and he certainly had not meant to further anger the man. 

“Your towel,” Crowley announced, standing near the shower with a pre-warmed luxuriously soft towel held out to be wrapped around Sam.

Sam stepped out from under the spray, allowing Crowley to wrap him up. “I messed up again,” he confessed. 

“You didn’t run out of here screaming your head off. You’re doing far better than I imagined you would, young master,” Crowley said with a smile. “Do you want me to call someone in to dry you completely?”

Sam shook his head, “I got it,” he muttered and began to dry himself with it. 

“Crowley,” he murmured after a few minutes, raising his gaze to the man’s. “I saw him,” he confessed, as though Crowley hadn’t been privy to the fact that Dean had walked out of the shower naked as the day he was born and bellowing the man’s name. “The scars,” he clarified and shook his head. “They run deeper than his skin, don’t they?” 

“You’re a perceptive one.” Crowley looked away for a moment, and then turned back and nodded. “They’re a symbol of everything he’s lost. He was a beautiful man, always arrogant, but still beautiful on the inside as well as the outside. A good ruler.” He ushered Sam out of the room and through the corridor, instead of through Dean’s bed chamber. 

“He says there’s nothing left on the inside. He doesn’t see that he is yet our leader and that he keeps us together. But enough of this, let’s get you dressed,” Crowley said as they stood in front of Sam’s closet. 

“If he hates himself so, how does he expect me to want to stay? The only friend I’ve made is you,” Sam murmured, brow creased thoughtfully. 

“Well, I didn’t say he’s not mercurial. One moment he’s worthless, the next, he is our Lord and ruler almighty, eh?” Laughing, he motioned for Sam to look at the clothing he pulled out to show him.

Sam regarded the red, open front tunic and black skin tight trousers that Crowley pulled from the closet and wrinkled his nose with distaste. “Is there anything with...I dunno, _more buttons_?” he inquired lifting his gaze to the garments that hung inside the large closet. 

“Of course.” Stepping closer, Crowley shifted clothes along the railing, then pulled out a black, one piece outfit. “This will suit you,” he declared.

Sam’s jaw fell slack as he gaped at the outfit that Crowley held out, then he adamantly shook his head. “Uh, no. What I mean is, y’know, something that covers more,” he explained. “So I don’t feel like one of Miss Brigit’s ladies.” 

“Right, I have no idea who your Miss Brigit is, but I can do more covered up. Here,” he pulled out a pair of pants and what appeared to be a soft tee shirt. “Come on,” he said, taking the clothing with him to lay it down on Sam’s bed. “Best thing about this... watch.” Gripping both sides of the trousers, Crowley tugged and the Velcro came apart with a satisfying tearing sound. “Oooh yes, I’m sure his Highness will enjoy that.”

Sam’s eyes widened slightly and his mouth once again fell open. He was beginning to think that he might just as well leave it that way since everything around this place tended to shock him to his core. He swallowed hard and while gripping the towel to him with one hand raised the other to rub nervously at the back of his neck. 

“Um,” he began only to pause as his eyes darted about the room a moment before settling back on Crowley. “Are my clothes, the ones I came here in, are they clean? Can I just wear them instead?” He inquired hopefully. 

“Oh no, we made sure to burn them. What is wrong with these, are they not soft enough?” he asked, putting the material against Sam’s cheek. “I didn’t touch yours, but they looked quite... rough to me. Try them on.” Without waiting for an answer, he refastened the sides of the pants up to the thighs, then held them out for Sam to step into. “It can be quite exciting, not wearing underclothes,” he said. 

Once again, Sam’s mouth fell slack and he made a disgruntled sound at the back of his throat. He sighed heavily as his features fell into a defeated and weary frown. “I think I’ll just go with the black pants you had out earlier, and that shirt,” he said with a nod toward the soft blue tee. 

“As you wish.” Leaving the shirt behind, Crowley took the pants back to the closet and found the leather ones again. “You’re absolutely right, Master Sam, leather feels completely fabulous against flesh and warms up quite nicely with a bit of _friction_.

Sam shook his head but he didn’t argue. Despite the tightness of the leather pants, at least they would cover everything and Dean wouldn’t be able to just rip them off his body and embarrass him to death at any given time. He was looking forward to the tee shirt though, it seemed to be more like the clothing he was used to, and might go so far as to hide it tonight where these people would be unable to burn it while he slept. 

He pulled on the leather, nearly falling backward in the process of trying to get the tight garment up his body, then with his arms shaking from strain he managed to zip and button the front of them. Once he finished he released a breath of relief that at least that part was over. Reaching for the shirt, he pulled it on and was happy to see that it was the closest thing to “normal” that he had encountered in this strange land. 

He lifted his gaze to Crowley with a nod, “Okay, shoes?” He said, wiggling his toes against the floor. 

“I suppose you want to hide your toes as well,” Crowley teased. He brought out a few pairs of shoes and some short boots. “Take your pick, only one of them rips open,” he said waggling his brows. “I won’t be telling you Dean’s preference as you’re liable to choose the opposite, eh?”

Sam smiled, wide enough that his dimples showed as he shook his head and a soft chuckle fell from between his lips. “It’s not like I try to be against him. It’s like....” he began and paused as he thought about it, “It’s like he wants me to...to be in love with him...want him,” his face flushed brightly as he dipped his head. 

He shrugged a shoulder as he lifted his gaze once more to Crowley, “I just got here, wooing takes time,” he murmured. “I know nothing about him, only that he was scarred by a man-witch and that he’s sad. Sadder than he realizes. That’s not exactly enough to begin a torrid love affair.”

Crowley couldn’t help thinking that there was a time when Dean would know exactly how to win this boy over. “He is impatient. Not just with you. With himself. With everyone.” 

He gave Sam a once over and nodded. “You’ll do quite nicely. And should you ever wish to join a cult... a religious order that requires celibacy, you’ll only have to take a bit of clothing off to fit in.”

*

A short while later, Sam was seated in a small dining room, one that would have swallowed up his old house completely. Once Crowley determined that the Prince would not be showing, he drew up a chair next to Sam. “I’ll keep you company while you eat.”

An endless array of foods was brought to Sam, servants opening up silver platters to see what he wished to add to his plate.

Crowley accepted some coffee. “Well, today was supposed to be the day you were introduced to the various tutors that are available to you. History, language, magics - theoretical only, unless you are capable of generating it, sciences, maths, anything you wish. However...”

Taking a long sip of his drink, Crowley set the cup down. “I have been instructed to instead accept instruction from you. So tell me, young Master Sam, everything. Your surname, which I am given to understand is not Sam,” his lips quirked as he recalled the way Dean had quoted Sam. The fact that he was this irritated by the boy was a good sign, it meant Sam had gotten under his skin. “What type of drinks and flowers do you like, what is the courtship dance that Earthlings engage in, what is the best way to get one who is courted to kiss, and engage... play, that sort of thing...”

Sam quirked a brow as he stared at Crowley, “He asked you to find this out?” He took a deep breath. “Tell him that if _he_ wants to court me, he should ask me himself. Unless of course he wishes to have _you_ court me. And tell it to him exactly as I have told you, leave nothing out,” Sam instructed as he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, determined that if Dean wanted him, _he_ would be the one to fight for it, not his servant.

“Won’t you have some pity... on my ears?” Crowley asked, shaking his head. 

Sam chuckled and his arms fell away from his chest, “I think it should be him that asks me. Though I am sorry for your ears,” he replied. “I hope that you won’t hold it against me,” he mused beseechingly. 

“Well... It has been a while since we had this much drama around here. At the very least, it will keep things interesting.” Crowley motioned for a servant to bring him a plate and was immediately served. “So what’s your pleasure for the day? Ah, would you like to be tutored in the art of pleasuring? That would make my prince very happy,” Crowley declared. It was a good plan, even if he got nothing on how this boy wished to be courted, he could teach him to court and please Dean. “You’ll have to show more skin of course,” he said looking dubiously at Sam’s covered up body.

Sam frowned and shook his head with a sigh. “Just tell Dean what I told you,” he responded wearily, “Please,” he added, not wanting to lose the only friend he had due to wanting to get a point across to the Lord of this place. “After you’ve talked to him, perhaps you and I can do something together,” he suggested excitedly. 

Crowley stood up and gave a slight bow. With that, he retreated from the room, leaving the other servants to ply Sam with food.

* * *

“He said WHAT?!” Dean roared. A cold gust of wind blew through the halls of the entire castle, putting out torch lights in its wake.

“Dean, your Highness, please...”

Books and artistic objects slammed into walls and shattered onto the floors as Dean stalked around, using his forearm to push items off the surface of the tables, or grabbing and smashing vases and statues to smithereens. 

“Sire...”

“Don’t you ‘Highness’ me. I told you, it is useless. When he’s not busy ignoring me, he taunts me... with YOU,” he added, pointing at Crowley. 

“It’s not like that, he...”

“Enough! Get out!” Dean yelled and the double doors burst open as if on cue.

“But...”

“OUT!”

As soon as the servant walked out, the doors slammed shut behind him with a sound thundered traveled down the halls.

* * *

By the time Crowley crept into the dining room, it appeared as if Sam was done breaking his fast. 

Sam turned his attention to the servant the moment he heard him step into the dining room. “I guess it didn’t go over well?” He surmised, having heard the door slams and seen the servants scurrying about to relight torches snuffed out by the prince’s wrath. 

He shook his head as he pushed his chair back and stood up. “He reminds me of a spoiled child in need of a spanking,” he mumbled before his gaze snapped to Crowley. “And no, not like _that!_ , he quickly added before the servant turned his words around on him.

“Is there somewhere that we could,” he started and paused with a shrug uncertain of how to explain himself to Crowley. “Someplace we can go....talk, get to know one another...as pals,” he inquired, trying to be as clear as he could regarding his intentions. 

Crowley shook his head ‘no,’ then raised his hands in the air. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d take you up as a fuck-pal in a heartbeat, but... since his Highness has shown interest, not without his permission, and certainly not before he’s had you first. He hasn’t yet, has he?” He asked, not yet having ascertained what had gone on between the sheets last night, and in the shower this morning.

Sam clenched his teeth in frustration. “No,” he replied slowly as though the man might be daft, “That’s not what I meant. I mean, friends, buddies...you know, someone you can laugh with, share secrets,” his head tilted to one side, brow furrowing, “Don’t you have any friends?” 

“Oh you’re looking for a non-fuck-pal, his Highness will be relieved.” Crowley studied Sam for a moment. “It must just not be my day, I can’t please anyone, it seems. At least your voice is lower and you don’t have the whole flair for drama,” he said waving his hands about in the general direction of the torches. “No worries, he’s selected those sort of friends for you. If you wish to ‘visit,’ rather than be tutored, why don’t I take you to one of the salons where you can meet people?” 

Sam rolled his eyes at the idea that _anything_ he said or did would relieve ‘His Highness’, but didn’t argue the point. Resigned to meeting people selected by his Highness, he agreed. “Alright, but will you join me? I know it sounds...” he sighed, “But you’re the only friend I have right now and...” 

“I’ll come, until I’m summoned,” Crowley nodded. “This way then.”

* * *

Sam was surrounded by people his age, many of whom were curious about him, about his planet. They asked questions both about where he came from, and more personal ones. Crowley stood to the side, making sure everyone was offered tea and coffee and pastries, and that they had everything they needed. 

Each time the conversation turned to sex, he noted Sam’s deep blush. For one ‘not interested,’ he did seem to be listening carefully when others discussed their experiences. 

“My absolute favorite thing is to sit astride over my partner and ride his cock without mercy,” Annette, a dark haired beauty in tight, revealing clothes, said, when it was her turn. “What about you, Sam?” she asked, turning her head towards him and giving him an encouraging smile.

Sam’s eyes widened and his tongue darted out, licking nervously across his lips as his gaze moved from face to face noting how everyone's attention was now on him. 

“Uh, I don’t...” he muttered as he lowered his gaze and shook his head a deep scarlet blush staining his cheeks. “Pick - pick someone else,” he mumbled. 

One of the girls sitting next to Sam laughed and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re so cute. So very _fourteen_.” 

Sam’s blush seemed to get worse when the girl sitting next to him kissed his cheek but then he lifted his head, brow furrowed with irritation the moment when she called him ‘fourteen’. He wasn’t fourteen, he just wasn’t as uninhibited as these people. 

Some of the others joined in the laughter. Then others began to tell about their favorite activities again. The conversation ebbed and flowed, moved back and forth between other topics and sex. 

Sam’s attention lifted to the others as the conversations continued. He found himself quite enraptured by one of the boys who was telling of his boyfriend and the things that they did together. His eyes widened with shock and he could feel his cheeks warm with yet another blush as the boy spoke of the two of them adding another to their sex and how one fucked him from behind while the third in their party sucked his cock. 

He laughed when the dark haired girl beside him threw part of her biscuit at the boy and called him a fibber. His gaze strayed time and again to Crowley, noting that the man had not moved from his spot. Sam excused himself then stood to his feet and made his way over to Crowley. 

“Come sit with me,” he invited. “Come on, it’s alright, we won’t bite,” he coaxed when the man opened his mouth and he sensed he was about to be turned down on his invitation. 

“Some of this lot will bite, on request, you know that, don’t you?” Crowley waggled his brows then stood up. “Really not in your age group am I?” Despite his protests, Crowley joined the group and seemed comfortable enough doing so. 

“You having fun?” Crowley asked him. 

Sam nodded, “It’s interesting,” he admitted. He smiled and his gaze roved over Crowley’s features, “Tell me, what’s your favorite thing?” He asked, his smile widening and a deep blush working its way down from his cheeks to his neck and up to the tips of his ears. 

Crowley’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “You’re not flirting with me, are you?” Seeing Sam’s blush deepen to an impossible shade of scarlet, he let the youth off the hook, but gave him a warning, “You might hear something you’ll wish you didn’t know.”

“We want to know,” one of the others chimed in.

Sam lifted his gaze from where it had fallen in his embarrassment due to his being more forward than he ever had in his life. His lips however were still curved into a smile despite the shyness that seemed to hinder his ability to join in fully with the others, that and the fact that he was a virgin with not much to tell, of course. 

“Alright. I’ll tell you my _second_ most favorite thing, and no amount of groaning is going to make me change my mind and tell you my absolute favorite,” Crowley said, raising his hands up to quiet everyone down. “Right. Once, long ago, when there were virgins left in the realm...”

There was a lot of laughter.

“... and I mean real ones, not talking about role playing... I got hooked up with not one, but two. A sweet little girl and a boy who looked much like....” his gaze shifted to Sam. “About your age, I mean to say. Had them each in chastity belts for about a month, him in a cock cage. We met up often and I had them weeping for it... by the time I was ready to free them... They fought over me, both of them crazy with need. While I was busy deflowering one of them, the other was behind me. Gods... how it felt...”

Leaning forward, from where she was sitting across from Sam, Annette placed her hand on his knee. “I wouldn’t tell Prince Dean about this or he might get ideas. Imagine waiting a month! Unless the rumors of your virginity are untrue...”

Sam’s eyes widened at Crowley’s tale only to have his attention snap to Annette as she spoke. His face heated and he ducked his head sheepishly, refusing to look up to see the shock and ridicule on all of their faces. 

“Don’t worry, we’ve all been there. Only most of us were years younger,” she said, giving his knee a squeeze. “But tell us, how did you get Prince Dean to play with you? We all know he brought you from far and away, but you got him to actually... “

Sam’s head snapped up and he shook it vigorously, “I didn’t...” he retorted, eyes wide with innocence and alarm. 

“But... well everyone knows you were in the dungeons, playing,” she insisted. “I wish I’d known, I’d have come to watch.”

There were many echoes and murmurs of agreement.

Sam’s eyes widened to comical proportions as he vigorously shook his head. “No!” He insisted, “I don’t want anyone to watch!” He bit at his bottom lip as everyone turned their confused attention to him. 

“I.... where I’m from, that - that’s something to be done in private, without others watching. It’s supposed to _mean_ something,” he explained and lifted a hand to press against his heart. “It is supposed to be out of love, between only two people,” he continued with a glance at Crowley. “Others aren’t supposed to watch and take the intimacy out of it. It’s...it’s not right, it makes it...I dunno, _dirty_ ,” he murmured, lowering his gaze with the last of his words. 

Seeing Sam was ruffling some feathers and was also getting agitated, Crowley broke in. “Everyone, you have to realize, rather you should realize, morality standards vary. The place Sam is from is very much like how our peoples were oh.... about four thousand years ago. And Sam, what you say about your people, it’s not entirely accurate. Some people, like your father, perhaps your teachers and so forth, abide by those standards. But the “Miss Brigit's” of your world, and everyone that they cater to, certainly do not live by those standards. I think you’ll find a balance, perhaps you’ll never be as _wild_ as some of us, but I’m willing to bet someday you’ll wonder why you were this shy and reserved.”

“And when that day comes, maybe my partner and I could _play_ with you and Prince Dean,” Annette said, reaching out to thread her fingers through her partner’s. “Jessica and I would love that. If you asked him... I’ll bet he can’t say ‘no’ to you.” 

Sam shook his head, “But I don’t want to,” he murmured softly. 

Her face fell with disappointment. “Okay, no pressure.”

 

Sam peeked up over his brows at her, unwilling to lift his head due to his embarrassment. “It’s not you, it’s just...” he sighed heavily and shrugged a shoulder. “If...if I’m supposed to... _be_ with Dean...I mean Prince Dean, then I want us to be...I dunno, what I’d kinda dreamt of when I pictured myself settling down. A person just for _me_ and me just for them... Probably sounds stupid to you...” he mumbled dejectedly. 

“Oh, lots of us choose only one partner,” someone said.

“Or one partner for a number of years,” another chimed in.

“Has anyone told the Prince that Sam is claiming him as exclusively his?” There were chuckles and laughter, and people looking at Sam.

“I’m sure Sam will notify his Highness at the appropriate time. Now, how about an old fashioned game of musical chairs. Anyone without a chair loses a piece of clothing but stays in the game. One chair is removed every round. Rules clear? Good,” Crowley said and made a shooing motion just as several servants brought in chairs and pushed a piano into the room.

Sam was reluctant to join in, not wanting to wind up naked in front of friends he had just made or in the presence of so many girls. His gaze swung from one of the girls that he would have likely courted had he been back home but she had spoken of things he had no idea about, not to mention he apparently was supposed to be with Dean. 

It wasn’t that he minded Dean, he was getting to sort of understand him if nothing else, and despite the scars on his face and body, he was not horrible to look at, _if_ you could get past his disposition. Sam simply had to get past years and years of teachings that had him convinced that a man was for a woman, and a woman for a man, and that no other pairing would do. 

The game went on for quite some time and Sam seemed to luck out for a long while, but then he finally was without a chair and had to remove an article. He removed a shoe much to the others’ chagrin. As the game progressed, it seemed that Sam’s luck had run out and soon he had both shoes, both socks and his tee laying in the pile along with the others’ clothing. The music stopped once more and Sam scrambled for a chair at the same time as the young lady who had caught his eye. In an attempt to beat her out of having a seat, he picked Sarah up in his arms and plopped himself down in the chair with her on his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

Her playful screams and giggles filled the air along with Sam’s laughter and he nearly missed the reason that all of the others had suddenly grown deathly quiet. But then, from the corner of his eye, Sam spotted _him_ standing near Crowley.

Dean stood with his back ramrod straight and his gaze glued to Sam and Sarah. Sam’s laughter melted away as did Sarah’s and Sam abruptly released her, allowing the girl to scurry away. 

“What’s the matter? You act as if the devil walked in,” Dean said, using a reference Sam was fond of. He was more than aware that his presence seemed to have sucked the joy out of Sam’s eyes, and others must have noticed as well. His gaze flicked to Sarah, and then back to Sam. “Well?”

Sam shook his head as he stood to his feet and found himself sidestepping and using his body to block Dean’s view of Sarah almost protectively. “N-nothing,” he stammered, “We were just playing a game and... well, I - you...” he licked his lips nervously and his gaze flickered to Crowley as if to ask for the man’s help. 

“You’re looking at him like a jealous lover,” Crowley made a show of bowing, “With all due respect.”

Dean’s mouth tightened into a firm line. “Go on. Play with the others. I came to watch. Music,” he snapped, and the piano started to play again, setting the players into motion.

“You could be nicer,” Crowley advised.

“And he could try to be more... more... more like that, with me,” Dean retorted. “I didn’t see him getting stiff or trying to cover his manhood when... when _she_ was sitting on top of him.”

“Maybe he likes softer bottoms.”

“Crowley,” Dean snarled. “You try my patience.”

Sam nervously licked his lips, uncertain if he could ever be as carefree in Dean’s presence. As much as the others intimidated him on the sexual level, they were all his age and seemed quite pleasant, especially compared to Dean. He turned his head and looked back at Sarah who seemed to be waiting to see what he would do. He cleared his throat and turned, nodding to her that he would play. 

Joining back into the game, Sam’s luck continued to hold out until at last he and Sarah, Annette and another young man, Andy were the four last remaining, and there were but two chairs. Despite Crowley’s earlier idea that none would be out, when the game restarted, the rules apparently changed a bit and Sam wasn’t totally certain whether it was by accident or due to them wanting to get out from under Dean’s watchful eye. 

The song ended and Annette quickly sat, leaving only one chair available. Sam made a mad dash for it as did Andy and Sarah. Sam sat down quickly, at the exact same moment that Sarah did, the two of them giggling madly at a losing Andy. 

“If I wrestle him for a chair, do you think he’ll laugh like that?” Dean asked Crowley.

“Hmmm. No, I don’t think--”

“It wasn’t a real question,” Dean snapped. “It looks like Annette is the winner, with Sam and Sarah as close runners up. Everyone’s got more clothes on than I’d expect. Must have been a tame game,” he commented.

“Yes, Highness.” 

After hearing several echoes of the same, he made a hand gesture. “Please, carry on. Enjoy yourselves.” His gaze met and locked with Sam’s and he all but willed him to come over. 

Sam licked his lips and turned his head to look back at Sarah, offering her a small smile before returning his attention to Dean and rising to his feet. He crossed the distance between them, though his feet felt as though they were made of lead, apprehension curling within him. 

“D-Dean, do...I mean,” he stammered and glanced at Crowley briefly before looking back at Dean, “Do you - would you...like to play?” he inquired, clearing his throat nervously afterward.

“An invitation to the dungeons? How can I refuse?” Dean asked, smirking slightly.

Sam’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened into saucers, “N-n-no,” he stammered, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean...” he turned his head and looked back over his shoulder at the others before turning his attention to Crowley beseechingly. 

Crowley looked down and refused to interfere.

“And they say hope floats eternal.” When Sam’s expression remained unchanged, Dean said, “I am going out and have a few minutes to spare. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I....” he began though his words trailed off as he nodded, “Yes, I am...” his tongue darted out, licking across his lips. “And...what I meant was here, this game not...” he murmured, a blush creeping its way over his features as he recalled the sight Dean had come in to see. 

Sarah walked up just behind and to the side of Sam and curtsied before Dean. “Your Highness,” she murmured. “Beggin’ your pardon your highness but,” she paused and glanced over at Sam, “Samuel claims that he is a virgin and wishes not to....” her lips turned upward at the corners into a soft smirk as she looked over at his reddened face. “He wishes to be more...discreet,” she offered delicately returning her gaze to Dean. 

She then lowered her gaze demurely, but only briefly before lifting it once more to Sam, who stood ramrod straight beside her with the darkest blush on his face. “Isn’t he just adorable, your highness?” She mused with a giggle. 

All the flames in the oil lamps and in the fireplace flickered violently. Dean’s eyes grew as stormy as the skies beyond the castle walls. 

“Begging your pardon, Sarah,” he said in a hard tone that made it clear he was certainly not asking her pardon for real, “but Samuel’s wishes and what happens between him and me is none of your damned business and you will not comment on it again, ever.” A muscle pulsed in his jaw as his eyes bore into hers.

Sarah’s eyes grew wide with alarm and she quickly retreated a few steps, “Yes, your highness,” she replied, bowing her head. “I - forgive me, your Highness.” 

Sam’s attention snapped from Dean to Sarah and back, his eyes tightening with anger. “Leave her alone, she’s just a girl!” Sam spat. “She didn’t mean any harm.” 

“She knows better than to give me unasked for advice. And what has her sex got to do with it, anyway?” Dean frowned, then nodded his head to the side, indicating she was dismissed. “Come, I am here to court you. Let’s get it over with,” he said, clamping his hand around Sam’s wrist and pulling him to a cluster of chairs and sofas away from the others.

“Light, romantic music,” Crowley told the pianist. “And champagne for everyone.”

Sam’s brow creased and he glared angrily at Dean. “Her sex has everything to do with it, you’re not supposed to treat a lady like that!” he spat. “And courting takes a lot longer than something you can simply ‘get over with.’ For one thing, you have to _mean it_ ,” he said, yanking his wrist out of Dean’s hand. “Heck, Crowley knows me better than you do!” 

“Crowley, Crowley, Crowley,” Dean growled, though he immediately motioned for the hapless man not to approach when he thought was being called. “I forbid you to speak that name again. And I... perhaps I misspoke about ‘getting over’ with it. What I meant is, I have a realm to run and not much time today. Please sit down.”

Sam sat down with a huff, his gaze still angry. “And what do you want me to call him? Buddy? Pal? Hey you?” He asked, rebellion brewing in his eyes. “And I understand you’re busy, but that...” he sighed heavily, the steam suddenly seeming to go out of him. “I just... I wanted you to understand...that’s all.” 

“I understand completely, you want me to know everything about you. You’ve made it very clear. That’s exactly what I’m here to talk to you about,” Dean said, grasping Sam’s hand and holding it again. “Oh, and I wouldn’t object if you called him ‘hey you.’” His lips quirked.

Sam couldn’t help the grin that curled his lips despite his annoyance at Dean. “Alright, so...” Sam coaxed, waiting for Dean to ask him questions. 

“So... I came by to see that you are well, and you seem to be. And to make certain that you set aside an hour or so, find your way to one of the libraries. Crowley or another servant can bring you paper and ink. Write down _everything_ about yourself, everything. Your likes and dislikes, your dreams, you favorite scents... anything you can think of, and I promise I will study it. No, don’t argue,” he said, squeezing Sam’s hand. “I will make time to learn everything about you, I will clear my schedule to read everything you’ve written.” His brows snapped together, “You do know how to write? If not, no matter, I’ll send someone to take dictation...”

Sam’s mouth fell open and he stared agape at Dean as he listened to the man’s words. “But...” he muttered softly. 

That was _so_ not the way one courts another, it sounded more like the arranged marriages that he had heard about. His mouth moved but no words came out for a long moment but then he suddenly found his voice. “You,” he murmured as he shook his head, “You don’t want to...to _talk_ to me and discover these things for yourself?” 

“Of course I want to talk to you. We’ll have supper together and find some entertainment,” Dean promised, “And naturally, you’re sharing my bed. If you’re not as sleepy tonight, we’ll do a lot more _talking_ , I promise,” he said, his voice soft and seductive. 

Sam frowned as he gazed at Dean, unimpressed by the direction of his thoughts. “I think it would be better for that kind of _talking_ to wait until we’re officially courting and you can tell me something about me other than my first name.” 

Dean’s lips tightened. “No. We are already courting. Sometimes it’s best to know that you’ve won and stop making additional demands. You sent Crowley to me this afternoon, I listened, and you have your Prince here, dancing attendance on you. Don’t push me,” he warned. “I’ll see you at dinner then, hopefully in a better humor.” Standing up, he took Sam’s hand and kissed it. “I’ll be counting the hours.” 

“Dean,” Sam called and waited until he had the Prince’s full attention. “If you can tell me the date of my birth by dinner, I’ll kiss you in bed tonight...as much as you want,” he challenged. 

“Excellent.” Giving Sam a smile that promised much, he walked away, the guests parting to allow him to pass. “Crowley, find out his date of birth or you’re fired,” Dean said as he walked out of the room.

Sighing, Crowley looked back at Sam.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam was seated in the small dining room, but the Prince had yet to arrive. He was offered drinks and some starters. The large clock on the mantel ticked away the minutes that passed.

Eventually, an array of servants walked in bearing trays of the main course and started offering them to Sam. Miss Feathers, the head housekeeper, hurried them along, and then curtsied before Sam. “Begging your pardon, Master Sam, but his Highness is unable to join you. He gave us the ‘what not’ for starving you. I am sorry,” she said, curtsying again.

“Really?” Sam was surprised that the Prince wasn’t beating his entire staff in his effort to make it to his side before he had the chance to disappear or something. “What’s keeping him?” He asked, “Do you know?” 

“He’s indisposed, Sir. Would you like some potatoes? Cook makes the best au gratin this side of Castica.” Another servant approached, taking the cover off the silver platter and serving Sam.

Sam had never had au gratin potatoes but he was allergic to heavy amounts of dairy a fact that he had discovered after drinking large quantities of milk one spring. He had wound up in bed with a belly ache and then spent the next three days running to the outhouse as his body kicked out the offending dairy. 

“Um...” he murmured with a glance up at the woman who had addressed him. “Is there a lot of milk in these?” He inquired tentatively. 

She nodded, “Take the plate away, bring a fresh one. Meat?” she waved a servant over.

Sam watched as his plate was filled with a variety of meats. He turned his attention back to the woman after a moment wondering if he might be allowed other company since Dean was not joining him. “Where is Crowley? Can he join me for dinner?” 

“I’m very sorry Sir, Mr. Crowley is indisposed as well, attending to his Highness. Nothing to be concerned about, I’m sure,” she said, sounding anything but sure. “Wine?”

“Indisposed? Both of them? Why? Where are they?” He pressed her for an answer. 

“There was trouble, beyond the walls, you know,” she said. “The Physicians were called, it’s all I know, Sir. Mr. Crowley is sure to let us know how his Highness is doing, soon as he knows himself. You really should eat.”

Sam’s brow knitted, “What?” He demanded, “Dean was hurt? How? When? By what? Who?”

“ _Things._ Those things, beyond the walls,” she said, her expression reflecting her horror. “They get bolder every year. They don’t... die,” she whispered. “Don’t worry your head none, he’s got the best care possible and there’s nothing you can do, any of us, can do. We just have to wait.” 

Sam abruptly stood. “Where is he? I want to see him,” he demanded. “And don’t tell me no, Dean told me that you are to do as I say,” he added sternly. 

“But his Highness also told us you are to eat your supper.” She took a deep breath. “In his quarters, Sir. He’ll have my hide...”

“No he won’t,” Sam assured, “I’ll tell him it was all me.” He pushed back the chair so he could make his way from the table and headed toward the Prince’s quarters, as best as he could remember it since he had only been there a day and a half now. “I’ll take my meal in the Prince’s room, just make me a plate, I trust you,” he called over his shoulder. “And bring chicken soup for his highness,” he added. 

*

Seeing the Princes’ consort, the royal guardsman moved in front of the door. “His Highness is not taking visitors, you’ll have to come back or wait in your quarters.”

From beyond the door, there was a shout of pain, followed by loud cursing. The guard’s face remained impassive.

Sam pressed his lips together in a flat line of irritation as he lifted his head, jaw held at a stubborn angle. “Let me pass, his Highness, Dean has said that I am to have what I want, and I want in _there_ ,” he insisted with a narrowed eye glance past the guard at the door. “Refuse me and you will feel his Highness’ wrath, I assure you,” he hissed, eyes tightening into dangerous slits. 

The guard looked behind him, then back at Sam. “He did say that but... I’ll check...” he started to say when there was another loud shout. He nodded toward the door, “Go on. If you’re wrong, he’ll have my ass.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Sam promised with a nod as he made his way past the guard. 

Lifting his hand to the door, he pushed it open and stepping inside. He quickly closed the door quietly behind himself before turning and seeking out Prince Dean.

Crowley immediately crossed in front of Sam. “What are you doing here?” he asked, wiping his bloodied hands on his pants. “This is not a sight for one not used to battle wounds.” Seeing the stubborn tilt of Sam’s jaw, he sighed, “at least go to the antechamber and wait there.”

Sam shook his head, “He wants me to be his...” he paused and licked his lips, “Y’know,” he mumbled as a blush stole over his features. He cleared his throat and forced himself to look up rather than down shyly, “Then he has to get used to me being around,” he said with a shrug of one shoulder. “Now let me see him. Is it bad? What happened?” 

“His leg is out of joint and it’s been sliced open. He’s losing blood but still giving the orders. Are you sure you want to see this?” Crowley looked around and snapped his fingers at a servant. “A large bucket, in case Sam loses his dinner,” he ordered. 

“I haven’t eaten,” Sam mumbled softly, likely too quietly for anyone to hear. 

Once it was brought, Crowley walked Sam around the team of people surrounding the sofa that was now drenched with blood. The doctor was holding Dean’s knee and rolling his leg, causing the wound to open wider and blood to gush out. 

“Just put it the hell into place, Goddammit!” Dean yelled, his hands closing around the pillows. As he drew in a deep breath, he saw Sam. “Crowley! Get him out ….” A wave of pain cut off the rest of his order. 

Sam heaved a heavy sigh and looked over at Crowley, “Do we have something he can bite on for the pain?” He inquired, “It’ll also work to shut up his screaming,” he added with a slightly bemused smirk. 

Turning his attention back to Dean, Sam shook his head, “I’m not leaving, you’ll have to just deal with my being here.” 

Dean asked a single question. “Why?”

Sam pressed his lips together and frowned at Dean, “What do you mean, _why_?” He asked. “Because you’re hurt, you jug head,” he grumbled. 

“Jug head? You called your Prince a...” Dean started off sounding riled, but threw back his head and started to laugh. Course the doctor chose just that minute to try to manipulate his leg again. A deep guttural cry tore from Dean’s throat. His hand clutched the pillow again and before he knew it, Crowley was shoving something hard between his teeth.

“It was his idea,” Crowley said, pointing at Sam. “If anyone’s to be fired, that is...”

“I just about have it, highness,” the doctor said, putting his weight into it as he pushed on Dean’s leg.

Dean’s eyes rolled back into his head as the pain became overwhelming.

Sam looked from Dean to Crowley and gave a shrug, “It’s what we do for women in childbirth,” he reasoned. “Maybe he should have some cod liver oil,” Sam suggested with a glance toward Crowley. 

“Don’t have any cod on hand and I’m not sure you can wring oil out if its liver.” Crowley reached for Dean’s hand. “Almost over,” he said, but he wasn’t surprised when his hand was pushed away and Dean spat out the leather dagger sheath.

“I’m no woman in labor and--” Dean was unable to continue his rant when his leg slipped into place. “Now sew me up, you butcher,” he muttered, falling back against the pillows, his eyes sliding closed.

One man held the flesh of Dean’s thigh together, while the doctor began to stitch it together. “Nurse, wipe some of the blood.”

Sam’s brow knitted as he stared incredulously at Crowley, “Cod liver oil isn’t from a fish liver, it’s...I dunno, nasty tastin’ stuff that Ma use to say was good for what ailed you,” he explained. Sighing heavily, he stepped forward, knocking the woman’s hand outta the way. “I got it,” he mumbled. 

The nurse huffed and moved to the other side, but worked with Sam, dipping soft cloths into water and cleaning the area as the doctor stitched. “He’s lost a lot,” she said looking at the doctor. “There’s no telling whether he’ll be able to get his magic working.”

“I have one civilian trying to be a nurse, and now one nurse trying to be a doctor.” Despite his words, the physician admitted the nurse was correct. “You’ll watch his highness all night. If there’s any hint of fever, if he...”

“I’ll watch him,” she agreed. 

Sam glanced up, his gaze swinging from the nurse to the doctor as he nodded, “Me too.” 

“Have to admit, I didn’t think you’d get your hands dirty like this,” Crowley said, watching Sam pitch in. “What do you think, Highness?”

“I think you’re enjoying it too much, all of you. I want it over with, and then I want everyone out. Everyone.” He took a few heavy breaths. 

Sam snickered softly, “You whine a lot when you’re ill.” 

“Crowley, first thing tomorrow, you will instruct Sam on the proper way to speak to his prince.”

“Don’t think you really want that. You’d be bored of him in a day or so, if he did that. I know you very well,” Crowley pointed out. “Now let’s get you washed up and tucked in bed. “Nurse Amanda will watch over you.”

“Uh, I have that nice lady from the kitchen bringing Dean a bowl of soup, chicken,” Sam announced with a grin as though chicken soup would fix everything. 

Crowley put his shoulder under Dean’s arm. “Come on, we don’t have time for you two to fight over the honors.”

Sam’s brow creased, “Honors of what? Taking him to the bed?” he inquired confusedly. 

“Washing him off. He’s a bloody mess.”

“Oh,” Sam said with a nod, “Well, I might as well do it since we were in the shower together before. You think maybe you could hold him steady while I wash him up?” he asked Crowley. “We can kinda tag team him like we use to do with cattle.” 

“I am not cattle, I am not a woman in labor, and I am right here and can hear everything,” Dean growled, wincing as the two men helped him up. He couldn’t put any weight on his leg and would have called for a wheelchair, except for the taunts he was having to bear.

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes, “We know you’re right there, we’ve been listenin’ to ya bellyache for the past ten minutes,” he responded with a look toward Crowley as he shook his head. “And I know you can hear, you remind us of that every time you bellow at us like an old mule. Besides, you hurt your leg, not your ears.” He looked over at Crowley, “My Pa would shoot him and put him out of his misery if he was a horse,” he said with a sage nod. 

“What is this? You dare to mock me? You’re far too insolent and free with your insults. You are not to compare me to animals...” Dean complained long and hard, forgetting his pain completely in the process. Before he knew it, he was in the bath chamber.

Seeing the laughter in both Sam’s and Crowley’s eyes, he knew he’d been tricked out of thinking about the pain. He probably ought to be grateful about it, but he wasn’t. “Well what are you waiting for? Take my clothes off. Not you,” he clarified, when Crowley moved to do his bidding.

Sam lifted his gaze back to Crowley, “I think we need the leather stick again,” he whispered, hinting at the fact that Dean needed to be shut up rather than belly aching about everything that they did. He lowered his gaze to Dean and lifted his brows, “Are you going to stop being so mean if I undress you?” 

“Mean? I’m not being mean,” Dean protested. 

“You _are_ mean,” Sam argued. “I’ve told you before, it’s not the scars on your face and...” he allowed his sentence to trail off. “That make people shy away from you, it’s that you’re bossy and you snap at everyone, even Crowley who I think is probably your best friend. You are mean. M-E-A-N, mean. If you stopped you could probably have everyone in this kingdom...” He looked over at Crowley again, “It is a kingdom, right?”

“Principality,” Crowley corrected.

Sam nodded then looked back at Dean, “You could have everyone in this principality wrapped around your little finger,” he concluded with a decisive nod. “It’s like my Ma use to say, you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. I do have everyone wrapped around my finger, so to speak. I am their prince, I am now _your_ prince, not that you seem to realize the fact. Now, would you _please_ undress me and get on with this before I...”

Noticing the Prince’s pallor, Crowley gave Sam a nod. “He’s getting heavier to carry. Nurse, best have smelling salts ready,” he called out.

Sam sighed in frustration at Dean arguing with him when he _knew_ that in this instance as backward as they might think he was, he was right. He reached for Dean’s tunic and began to fumble with the fastenings. “They are not wrapped around your finger, they are afraid of you, there’s a difference. Back home, I use to have Ms. Hendricks wrapped around my little finger. I’d walk past her house and she’d send me home with fresh baked cookies or a pie for me and my sister and Pa. It was because I was nice to her, I did odd jobs for her and helped her out when I could; I was kind. It wasn’t because I yelled at her and barked orders at her. That’d mean that she did it outta fear and nothin’ means anything when it’s done outta fear,” he explained as he worked off Dean’s shirt. 

“Well you did have me wrapped _nice and tight_ around your _finger_ last night,” Dean managed to drawl. 

Sam’s brow knitted in confusion, “Huh?” He inquired with a glance at Crowley wondering if maybe he had a clue as to what Dean was rambling about. “I think he’s hallucinating,” Sam confided in a low whisper. 

“Hallucinating my ass. Water, cool,” he snapped his order and water started to rain down in the shower area. “I’ll remind you in bed.”

“I think this round goes to his highness,” Crowley said, not bothering to hide his grin. He walked under the waters with Sam and held Dean up. “Shall I call for a wheelchair,” he asked.

“Why, so I can be accused of belly aching again? Just... finish up quickly.”

Sam snickered and couldn’t be bothered about worrying about Dean’s threat about what would happen later in bed. He’d made himself useful and felt for the first time like maybe he sort of belonged here, in his new home. He’d gotten to spend time with his one friend in this entire, _principality_. Yeah, all in all it hadn’t been a bad day so far, despite the fact that Dean had injured himself. Dean’s body would heal, and sooner than probably everyone would like, he’d be back to storming through the place barking orders and being a royal “jug head”. 

Though the pain from the water hitting his skin and Sam cleaning him was close to unbearable, Dean grit his teeth and held it in. He was not going to give Sam any reason to make fun, nor was he going to give Crowley the opportunity to enjoy it. The man was hardly containing his glee! Right, grin and bear it. That was his motto.

Motto or not, he was only human. Darkness engulfed him.

“Oi there,” Crowley almost stumbled to the ground when he suddenly found himself bearing all of Dean’s weight. “He’s gone and fainted. Need some help in here!” he shouted.

Sam’s eyes widened and he looked up from Dean’s leg to his face. He blinked a couple times in stupefaction before he managed to tear his gaze away and look up at Crowley. 

“I thought only women got the vapors?” He inquired in confusion. 

“You’ll have to ask him about that when he wakes. Are you going to let me carry his weight?” Crowley demanded, although even before Sam had time to assist him, others were in the bath chamber, helping to carry Dean out to a wheelchair and drying him up. 

Crowley stepped out from under the stream of water and called for clothes, even as he started to take off his wet ones. 

In slight shock, Sam watched the others carry Dean from the room and into his bed chamber. He followed after them, shooing them out of the room once they had Dean laid upon his massive bed. He lifted one of the thick towels and began to dry Dean off very gently, each brush of the soft cotton as light as a butterfly’s wing. 

Crowley stood at the edge of the room, watching for a while, a smile curling his lips. Then he cleared his throat. “You’re all wet and need to change. Whose arse do you think it will be if you catch your death? Go on, I’ll tuck him in, and make sure your supper is brought to you, unless you’ve changed your mind and want to go out. He’s not going to be much company for a while.”

Sam turned his attention from Dean to Crowley. “Nah, I’ll stay. I already asked that they bring my dinner in here. Sighing, he turned his attention back to Dean. “He’s actually rather pleasant when he’s unconscious, isn’t he?” 

“Agreed, and you should tell him that too, when he wakes. Now, off with the clothes, no arguments please. I’ve had enough of them for a day. I’ll bring you something in ‘covered from head to foot style” you seem to favor.”

Sam chuckled and nodded, “That’d be great,” he agreed as he reached for the hem of his shirt and began to pull it up. Pulling the shirt over his head, Sam tossed it onto the floor then reached for the fastenings of his leather pants and found them harder to remove than they had been to get on. As he struggled with them he wound up falling backward onto the floor, sprawled out and panting from his struggles. “Stupid things!” He spat. “Crowley?” He called and rolled over onto his stomach in hopes of catching sight of the man so that he could ask him for assistance. 

“Yes?” Returning, Crowley rolled his eyes. “You can’t be serious.... What kind of backwards planet doesn’t have energy touch fastenings?” In a few strides, he was bending over and undoing Sam’s trousers. A prickling sensation at the back of his neck had him looking up and staring into Dean’s eyes. “Highness, I’m just... blast it!” Releasing Sam’s now open pants, he went to the bed and checked on Dean who’d slipped back into sleep. “Would be right fine by me, if you didn’t remember any of this.”

He gave Sam a look and left the room again, to get him his clothes.

A few minutes later, a tray of food was being rolled into Dean’s chambers and a chair was brought over for Sam. “Ring if you should need anything, anything at all,” the servant said, having poured a variety of drinks for Sam, but leaving the cover over the food to keep it warm.

Crowley returned with some heather gray clothing in his hands. “These sad garments are called sweatpants and sweatshirt,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Favored mostly by peasants as lounging wear. His highness is likely to have me burn them if he sees them on you.”

Sam smiled and stepped forward, holding a towel around his waist. “Looks great to me,” he said. “Thank you, thank you very much.”

“Don’t thank me, it won’t do much for you,” Crowley said, making a face. “Right, tug on the cord if you need anything,” he said pointing at the cords on either side of the bed, “Or shout out, there are guards posted in front of the door. The doctor will be checking on his highness’ progress all night and... right, do remember he’s the only one who can take you back to your world. I know you aren’t about to do anything to him, but it is highly irregular to leave him alone with a virtual stranger when he’s in this vulnerable state.”

Sam quirked a brow at Crowley, “I don’t really think that you can say we’re strangers, not after...” he allowed his sentence to trail off as a deep crimson stain covered his features. He cleared his throat and fought not to duck his head, “He’ll be fine, I swear.” 

“You’re such an innocent,” Crowley laughed. “I know you’re not a danger, else I wouldn’t leave you here. Good evening.” With that, he walked out of the room and smiled at Miss Feathers. “Let’s give them some bonding time, shall we?”

“It’s going well then?” She asked.

“It’s going as well as his Highness’ moods.”

“Stormy, then?” She tsk’d and walked off.

*

Sam dressed in the soft cotton clothing, a smile gracing his lips as he did so. It was the one outfit that he had worn since coming here that he actually felt comfortable in. He would add it to his list of clothing to hide so that it couldn’t be taken away from him and burned, no matter what the ogre thought about it. 

Once he finished eating he made his way over to the giant bed and climbed in, careful not to jostle Dean in the process. He started to lay on his side facing away from the man but as he looked wistfully up into his pale drawn features, something in Sam’s heart twisted and he turned toward Dean on his side instead. Wrapping an arm around the man’s waist he snuggled down under the blankets and closed his eyes. 

“Good night, your Highness,” he muttered softly. 

*

But for the glow of the fire light, the room was dark. It took Dean a moment to realize the comforting warmth he felt was Sam’s arms wrapped around him. He took a few deep breaths, then nuzzled Sam’s throat, loving his scent. “Crowley must have put you up to this, you’d never have come to my bed willingly,” he whispered.

Then his eyes snapped open. He started to sit up, but the sharp pain in his leg had him cursing and laying back down. 

Sam stirred in his sleep, his eyes lifting slowly as though they had been glued together during the night. “Huh? Wha’s wrong? Meg, you okay?” He mumbled sleepily as he lifted his head, looking around through barely slitted eyes. 

“Why do you keep taking me for a female? First I’m in labor, then...” Dean sniffed. “More importantly, what are you doing in my bed?”

“Mmm, I was sleeping,” Sam muttered groggily as he slowly lowered his head back down onto the pillow. “G’back to sleep,” he coaxed, running his hand along Dean’s side soothingly. “S’okay...” 

It was so damned tempting to stay there, cocooned against Sam, listening to him croon like that. To pretend Sam wasn’t acting. A knife twisted in Dean’s gut. “You think I’m a fool?” he demanded. “You think I don’t know?” 

“Know what?” Sam murmured in confusion.

“You. Crowley. You damned well know what I’m talking about. I saw you. Goddammit, I saw the both of you,” he said. “You let him touch you, and you cringe when I come close.” It wasn’t entirely accurate, but it certainly felt that way to Dean. “I have to work to get a smile, and he gets all your laughter. I could take that, but for you to... with him... in my bedchamber, while I’m in this state. I think you should go to your own room tonight,” he said, the firelight flickering dangerously as his magic reacted to his emotions.

Sam lifted his head and started down into Dean’s face as though the man had grown another head. “What?” He inquired incredulously. “I didn’t...” he sighed heavily. “Crowley unfastened my pants because the darn things wouldn’t come off,” he explained. “I didn’t even know you were awake,” he mumbled as he turned his attention to fluffing his pillow before flopping his head back down on it. “Go to sleep,” he commanded. 

His head was unclear so it took Dean a few minutes to work things out, to convince himself that what Sam said was the truth. Crowley wouldn’t dare sabotage him like that, although Sam might... “Sam?”

“Hm?” Sam hummed, refusing to open his eyes or lift his head as he struggled to return to sleep. 

“May 2nd. It’s May 2nd,” Dean whispered, turning his face to the side, toward Sam. “I think you owe me something.”

“How’d you find out?” asked Sam as he cracked one eye open. 

“Not telling. Now...” he puckered up and waited. “You know, an honest man would keep his end of a bargain.”

Sam sighed heavily. “If I kiss you will you shut up and go to sleep?” 

“If you promise to kiss me again in the morning. Make that... kiss me _all_ morning,” Dean said, “then you have a deal.”

“All morning?” Sam inquired, brow knitted skeptically. “You can’t kiss someone _all_ morning, not like you kiss, they’d pass out from lack of air,” he reasoned.

“I can hold my breath. Besides, I didn’t say you couldn’t take breaks. Sam? Am I going to have to grow old waiting on my kiss? Kiss me, we can talk about tomorrow later.” His lips curved into a smile. “I hurt everywhere except my lips. Kiss me better.”

Sam huffed in irritation. “You’re such a pain,” he grumbled even as he allowed his eyes to flutter closed and he leaned in, dipping his head. He slanted his mouth over Dean’s and allowed his tongue to slip into Dean’s mouth the way that he’d done before, sliding it slowly alongside Dean’s, before tangling with it. 

Dean gave a soft sigh and cupped the back of Sam’s head, his fingers carding through Sam’s soft, silky hair as they kissed. It was a slow, unrushed kiss, as sweet as an adolescent's first time. Feeling his pulse kick up a notch, Dean whispered against Sam’s lips, “And you, you are such a pleasure. When you’re not busy being a pain.” 

Before Sam could argue, he drew him down for another kiss, this time controlling it, running his own tongue across Sam’s palate and the back of his teeth, exploring the warm wet heat of his mouth. “I think I’m getting better already. A little more, and I’ll be sure.” 

Sam gave a huff of disbelief, although one corner of his lips turned upward. “Liar,” he mumbled against Dean’s lips. 

One kiss lead to another, and another, and another. Dean was sure he’d never get enough, and the urge to pull Sam down on top of him was getting stronger. Knowing he would not be able to bear Sam’s weight, he finally released Sam. “You’re getting very good at this.” He paused, then asked, “Do you like it?”

Sam shrugged a shoulder as a blush stole over his features. “It’s better’n kissin’ frogs,” he allowed with a small chuckle. 

“Frogs? Animals? You compare me to...” Grasping Sam’s chin, he studied his face. “You confound me sometimes,” he admitted. “But I will choose to take it as a ‘yes.’” 

Sam chuckled and his blush deepened, the sound not unlike a giggle though he was too old for such childish gestures. 

Dean found himself chuckling right along with Sam. “One more, just to be certain,” he said, grabbing Sam’s shirt, frowning at its thickness but forgetting his complaints the moment Sam’s mouth landed over his. Just as he pushed his tongue into Sam’s mouth, he was interrupted by the doctor’s voice.

“Master Sam! Contain yourself! His highness is not fit to satisfy your libido just yet. Good gracious,” she said, standing over them. “Your Highness, are you alright?”

“Mmm, just fine. Real fine. He hasn’t done any damage, and who can blame him... I am after all, quite tempting.” 

Sam ducked his head sheepishly at her stern scolding. “He told me to,” he said in defense of his actions. 

The doctor’s admonishments stopped the instant his highness spoke. “You’re absolutely right,” she said with a curtsy, quickly touching his forehead and checking his eyes. “I’ll go about my business then. See you in a few hours.”

She strode to the door, then turned, “Master Sam, do control your desires and be gentle with him.” Walking out, she closed the door firmly behind her.

Sam’s blush turned darker than likely anyone had ever seen and he ducked his head, hiding his face against the side of Dean’s neck. “Yes, ’em,” he muttered, his words muffled against the tender flesh. 

“Don’t listen to her. You can have your way with me all you like, I can take your lust,” Dean teased, putting a hand on Sam’s back as he felt him burrowing closer. 

Sam tried to scoot as close to Dean as he could in an attempt to hide, both from the doctor and Dean’s teasing words.

Dean kissed Sam’s temple and closed his eyes. It was likely the first time in a long time that he drifted to sleep with a smile on his face.

* * * 

It was morning, late morning from what the clock on the mantle told him. But why was his bed empty? Why the hell was Sam gone?

“Sam?” Dean called out, sitting and wincing at the pain in his leg. “Sam,” he repeated, thinking Sam might be down the hall in the bath chamber. The lack of response had him grumbling, especially since he could hear some laughter.

Grabbing the cane the doctor had left for him, he kept some of his weight off his leg and made his way to the bath chamber. Yes there was the definite sound of chatter and laughing. Dean’s eyes grew stormy at the thought of what could be going on right under his nose, in his very own bath chamber.

By the time he walked in, he didn’t know what to expect. One thing was for damned sure, he hadn’t expected to find Sam in his large tub, filled with bubbles, jabbering on and kicking his foot up and out of the water every once in a while, and Crowley sitting on a chair entertaining the hell out of him. And that was in between feeding Sam a bite of a croissant here and there.

Sam chuckled and nodded at what Crowley had just said regarding the tale that Sam was sharing about the time he snuck up to the outhouse to see Natalie Goodman lift her skirts, only to have her Pa come walking around the corner while he was peering in through the crescent moon hole.

“Yeah, I know,” he agreed. “I ran from there so fast...”

“And don’t tell me her jailer, I mean her father, didn’t have a talk with your father. From what you’ve said about him, I bet you couldn’t sit on your arse for a week,” Crowley laughed.

“And I’m willing to bet that I don’t pay you to sit on your ‘arse’ in my bath chamber, or to enjoy the sight of my... my...” he waved toward Sam.

Crowley jumped out of his seat. “I was just keeping him warm for you.”

“What?” Dean snarled.

“The chair, I was keeping it warm for you,” Crowley said, moving to Dean’s side to help him.

Dean pushed him away. “There are _some_ things I don’t need your help with. And you... you deal breaker,” Dean said, pointing at Sam with the cane. “What have you got to say for yourself?

Sam’s mouth fell open and his eyes swung to Crowley. “Uh, that I wanted to play in the water?” He tried, lifting his brows innocently. 

“Crowley came in this morning to see how you were and he mentioned a hot bath,” he explained with a shrug, “So I said I’d take one. He came in and got the water ready and helped me outta my clothes and into the water. I asked him to stick around so I could have someone to talk to. I thought I probably would be back before you even knew I had left.”

“Obviously, you’re wrong, because I do know that you left. And why is he _constantly_ helping you in and out of your clothes,” Dean demanded. 

“Highness, that actually is what you pay me for...”

“Shut up Crowley. If you hadn’t been in clothes to begin with, you wouldn’t need help getting out of them,” Dean reasoned. 

 

Sam huffed and shook his head. “Ya know, you’re a lot more fun to deal with when you’re asleep,” he remarked. “Even Crowley says so.” 

Faced with Dean’s dark glance, Crowley raised his hands up. “I have _no_ idea what he’s talking about. You’re always an absolute delight to deal with.”

“Crowley, you go too far. You too,” Dean said pointedly, to Sam. “And I’d be in a far better mood if you weren’t neglecting me and flouncing around with....” he pointed at Crowley.

Sam frowned. “I’m not flouncing,” he argued, “I’ve never _flounced_ with anyone. Crowley did mention teaching me a few more things. He did tell you about the lesson he gave me, right?” He asked quietly, not wanting to wind up getting his friend in trouble yet again. “Don’t get mad at him, okay? It was just us, nobody saw. And it was my fault, I asked him to do it,” he went on, trying to get Crowley out of trouble. 

The longer Sam spoke, the more Dean fumed.

Recognizing all the signs, Crowley tried to bow out. “Right, I’ll go about getting your breakfast sent up and--”

“You’ll leave when I say, and not a moment sooner,” Dean snapped. “Now let me get this straight. I’ve more than offered to teach you anything … everything,” he told Sam. “But at every turn, you draw a halt to things. You want to go slow. You’re afraid or... or you bargain and make deals. But with Crowley, everything goes? I forbid it. I absolutely forbid it, do you understand me? No kissing, no touching, no.... no asking him questions about intimacy. That’s MY job, and mine alone. Now tell me what you wanted him to show you, and I’ll show it to you, and better.”

When Dean finally got to the end of his rant, Sam’s lips curved upward into an amused grin and he was struggling to contain his laughter. “Crowley and I are just friends,” he said with a shake of his head. “And he and I have never...” he started, a deep blush slowly spreading across his cheeks. His gaze went to Crowley, “Tell him,” he coaxed. 

“He’s right, we’ve never...”   
“Never...” Dean’s gaze went from Sam to Crowley, as he waited for the man, either man, to finish what he was saying. “Never...”

“Exactly, never.”

“Never what?!” Dean practically shouted.

“Never _anything_ , that’s what. Highness, let’s get you to the chair. Your leg, your blood pressure.” Once again, Crowley tried to take Dean by the arm.

“I have no blood pressure. I mean issues, no blood pressure issues,” he clarified, knowing he might otherwise scare Sam to death, making him think he was one of the undead.

Sam couldn’t hold back his amusement any longer as his gaze darted between Dean and Crowley. 

“You two are funny,” he giggled. 

“We should invite Dean into one of our talks if he’s going to be this funny,” he mused through his laughter. 

“Ha ha, that is not funny. What is funny is that you,” Dean pointed at Sam, “are going to look as wrinkled as a prune if you stay in there. So...” he nodded at him to come out.

Sam’s eyes widened and he looked from Dean to Crowley for help before looking back at the man with the very expectant look on his face. He shook his head adamantly and took a step back in the large swimming-hole sized tub. “Not with you here,” he said.

“What? That’s ridiculous. You just stripped in front of Crowley,” Dean pointed out. “And I’ve seen everything before. Kissed most everything. Tasted--”

“Right, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it, then,” Crowley disappeared through the door.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam huffed in annoyance. “Great,” he grumbled half under his breath as he stared at the door that his friend had just disappeared through. His attention back to Dean, he lifted a hand out of the soapy water and swirled a finger in the air in a gesture to have Dean turn around. 

“Not on your life,” the prince answered. “C’mere. Gimme the kiss you promised. I’ll even allow you to get me wet,” he said, smirking. 

Sam’s lips pulled into a thin line as he stared at Dean. “Turn around and I’ll get out and give you the kiss I promised,” he shot back. 

“I want to see you,” Dean answered, his gaze growing more heated. “I promise I won’t bite.”

Sam heaved a heavy sigh, his gaze dropping down to the bubbles as he pondered how smart or stupid it would be to do as Dean said and just walk out of the water naked with Dean in the room. It didn’t bother him to be naked in front of Crowley, that was like being naked around any of the guys back home, because the man didn’t try to molest him every time his clothes were off. On the other hand, nudity wasn’t exactly a prerequisite for Dean’s attentions, he thought, giving a mental snort. He could be dressed head to toe and Dean would still look at him with that heat in his eyes. It was just that when he was clothed, he didn’t feel quite as vulnerable as he did now, naked as the day he was born. 

Sam finally lifted his gaze to Dean with a heavy sigh, “Okay,” he said, his voice low and uncertain. He used one hand to cup his cock and balls in an attempt to hide at least that part of his body from Dean’s roving gaze as he climbed out of the tub, nearly falling over twice because he was busy covering himself instead of using his hands to steady himself.

Dripping water all over the floor, he made his way over to Dean. Still covering his privates, he tilted his face up, closed his eyes and puckered his lips, waiting for Dean to kiss him. 

Dean’s gaze slid down over every inch of Sam’s water slicked body. Suds from the bubble bath still clung to parts of his chest and his hip. Steam rose from his skin. Dean could feel the heat radiating from his flushed body. 

Leaning his cane against Crowley’s chair, Dean stepped closer, put his hand over Sam’s and pushed it aside, then slid his arm around Sam, cupped his ass and drew him up hard against his body. Wet heat seeped right through his clothes, and he could feel every hard plane of Sam’s body. “I should make an edict, that you are to wear nothing but soap suds,” he whispered, before bringing his mouth down over Sam’s lips. 

Sam tasted hot, and sweet, and Dean couldn’t resist running his hands all over him as he tangled their tongues together and investigated every corner of his mouth. 

Sam’s lips parted with the intention of protesting, but he found himself unable to find the voice to complain about anything that the man was doing; every movement, every word causing pleasurable warmth to sing through his veins and along his nerve endings, pooling tight and heavy in his gut. 

Giving a soft sigh, Sam slowly lifted his arms, wrapping them around Dean’s neck as he returned the man’s kiss. His kisses were tentative at first, but something shifted in him, and he was soon kissing Dean with growing assurance and raw hunger. A low soft moan tumbled from his throat, though the sound was rapidly eaten up in the kiss. 

“Mmm.” Dean voiced his own pleasure and redoubled his efforts to bring Sam alive, to show him the pleasures of the flesh. But somewhere along the way, he forgot to give the lesson he intended, but received one instead. He learned once more what it felt like to have your body react to another’s, to want someone with every fiber of your being. 

Cupping the back of Sam’s head, Dean deepened the kiss and started to tongue fuck him the way he might with someone far less innocent. With his free hand, he molded Sam’s body against his own, rocking his arousal against Sam’s hip, barely aware of his surroundings anymore.

 

A grunted moan left Sam and a shudder ran down his spine that had nothing to do with revulsion and everything to do with the level of want that ran through his body as it recognized the motions of Dean’s tongue. He gasped in a breath and tore his mouth from Dean’s as he felt the hard length of the man’s arousal drag along the bared flesh of his hipbone, with only the fabric of Dean’s pants between them. He stared into the man’s eyes, his own wide with shock and trepidation. He swallowed hard as he gave his head a small shake. 

“I - I can’t...” he stammered softly. 

“Can’t, or won’t?” Dean asked, his voice raspy with desire. He didn’t allow any space between them and his gaze dropped down to Sam’s now scarlet mouth, before meeting his gaze again.

Sam’s tongue darted out, licking across his abused lips as he considered the man’s question. His throat convulsed as he swallowed hard once more, then cleared his throat nervously. 

“I - I don’t know how... I mean, I know how horses, livestock...but I’ve never...” the blush that spread over his features ran downward, flushing his chest, as well as reaching upward to the tips of his ears. _’God, please forgive me if this is truly a sin,’_ he thought. “We’re both men...I don’t...” he shook his head before allowing his eyes to slowly slip closed. “I - I’m scared.” 

“I would never hurt you,” Dean promised, sliding his hand across the side of Sam’s face. “And, you know, there are a hundred things we can do first, before _fucking_.” He used the word intentionally, tugging Sam close and pressing his arousal more firmly against him. 

Sam’s cheeks darkened to a deep scarlet at Dean’s use of the word _fuck_ and he shook his head. “I don’t,” he swallowed hard and lowered his gaze briefly before lifting it back to Dean’s face, “I don’t want to _fuck_ with you,” he admitted. 

“But you like to be kissed?” Dean asked, tilting Sam’s face up.

“Well, yes, but...” Sam stammered. “I want...” his blush deepened still, “I would like you to...” He paused in his words and his entire body trembled with nerves as he gazed into Dean’s eyes. “Teach me...teach me how to _make love_ to you....” 

Dean stilled. His heart tumbled in his chest. “You want...” Searching Sam’s face, he swallowed hard. “You’re saying ‘yes?’” He wanted to be sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, or that this was not another misunderstanding between them. “You. Want. Me?”

“Alone,” Sam murmured as he nodded. “In private, just you and me...making love.” 

Drawing Sam close, Dean slanted his mouth over his and kissed him again. This time it was a long, lingering kiss. He took his time and practically made love to Sam’s mouth, sucking his lower lip into his mouth, and then kissing his upper lip. Running his hand up and down Sam’s back, he moved against him, loving how pliable Sam could be when he wanted.

A servant walked into the room. Picking up a towel, she approached and started to dry Sam up from behind, when Dean waved her away. Lowering his mouth, he started another kiss, completely oblivious to the fact the servant was cleaning up around them.

Sam startled when he felt the servant began to dry him; and when Dean slanted his mouth back over his, he gently pushed Dean away. 

“Not now,” he whispered shyly, turning his head and his attention pointedly toward the servant before looking back at Dean almost beseechingly. 

“She’s not watching,” Dean promised, running his finger over the contours of Sam’s lips. “She’ll be fired if she does,” he said more loudly, for her benefit.

Sam’s brow creased, “But...” he argued, glancing again in the direction of the servant. He cleared his throat and tried his best to sound authoritative, “Could you excuse us? Maybe do that later?” he inquired with a lift of his brows as he inched closer to Dean to assure himself that she couldn’t see his entire bare body. 

She gave a curtsy and walked out of the room.

Another servant walked in. Rolling his eyes, Dean sent him away as well.

“You live in a castle now, in a land where we are not ashamed of our bodies. Privacy is a bit... it can be difficult to come by...” Dean took a couple of steps, until the back of his legs hit the chair. Holding the back of the chair, Dean slowly lowered himself down onto it. 

Tilting his face up, he allowed Sam to see the heat of his desire blazing in his eyes. “Come, sit on me,” he said. “I want to give you lesson one.” For this, he would bear the pain from Sam’s weight on his injured leg. Once Sam was in his arms, he was sure he’d forget all about it. 

Sam’s eyes lowered from Dean’s to the man’s lap and the blatantly obvious bulge at the crotch of his pants. He licked his lips and lifted his eyes to Dean’s, brow furrowing with confusion and curiosity. “Aren’t you supposed to get undressed first?” He inquired timidly. 

“You wanted courting. First a kiss. Then a touch. Then … more. The clothes will help me go slow. It’ll be easier on your eyes too,” he said, almost, but not quite, matter of factly. Sam had seen the scars that marred half his body. “If you close your eyes, I can be anyone you want me to be.” The latter advice, he had to force out. “Maybe...” he gave Sam his profile, the side of his face that was uninjured, hoping he might imagine that he was with Dean, as he looked before Patrick changed everything.

Sam’s brow furrowed as he listened to Dean and he found himself slowly shaking his head. “Why would I want to imagine...?” 

He licked his lips and moved forward, easing himself down onto Dean’s lap, but using his thigh muscles to hold most of his weight off of the man. He reached up with both hands, cupping Dean’s face and gently turning his head back so that Dean faced him head on. 

“I was taught that the things you talk about... men having relations with men... was wrong. I’d had plans, not in the too near future, but I had them, to find a girl like my Ma, court her, marry her, have kids with her,” he murmured. “But now...things in my life have changed, and you’re at the heart of that. Demon or Angel, sinner or saint, you are the one that changed my life... _forever_. And I don’t really think that God would condemn a man for who he wants to love when he’s done so much for others. I’ll never be able to thank you for what you did for my sister. My sister will never be able to thank me for taking care of her. But she doesn’t have to...I did it because I love her. I don’t know why you chose me, chose my family to bless with your gift, but you did. And,” he nodded, “At first I didn’t like you. Didn’t _want_ to like you, because you took me away from those I love, but...” he shrugged a shoulder. “I see things. Know you protect your people.” He licked his lips. “Anyway, if we do this...I want it to be the way I was taught it should be. Just me...and you...no pretending it’s someone else. No dungeon onlookers,” he murmured. “Just. Us.” 

Dean sucked his breath in. He moved his hands to Sam’s hips, sliding them slightly up and down as he stared into his eyes. “I’m no hero for the way I brought you here, and we both know it. But if you need to pretend...” he didn’t say the rest, but he didn’t flinch away from the truth. “We all need to pretend sometimes. I know what I look like. I know the things that go on in people’s minds when they’re fuck... when they’re _making love_. Fantasy is … it’s intrinsic to it. Remember when I blindfolded you?” 

The memory of having Sam tied up and blindfolded slammed into Dean full force. Dean’s gut clenched with need, and his fingers bit into Sam’s flesh. He couldn’t hide the desire etched in his face even if he pulled it out of Sam’s grasp and looked away.

Sam’s expression deflated and the corners of his lips curved downward ever so slightly. The words that had been spoken when he had been talking with the others his own age, their desire to share Dean with him had his stomach clenching and his chest aching. He gave a silent nod as he lowered his gaze almost dejectedly. Did Dean want more than him in his bed? 

“If that’s what you have to do...” Sam whispered timidly. His long dark lashes fluttered as he lifted his gaze back to Dean’s and shook his head, “I don’t know that I can give myself to a person and not have them...” he began then paused. “I don’t want to share you.” His own eyes widened with shock at the admission. “I mean, if - if we...I just...I was taught...” he stammered. 

“I’ve made you sad.” It surprised Dean, how much he was disturbed by the fact that he could not find the right words to keep a smile on Sam’s face. Reaching up, he cupped Sam’s face and used his thumb to give a curve to Sam’s mouth. “I don’t know how to speak to you, to make you happy.” 

Sam slowly lifted himself up and eased himself slowly back from Dean, standing to his full height. His stared at the floor dejectedly. “I should get dressed. “May I call for Crowley?” 

“What? Why?” Dean looked down at his now empty lap, then up at Sam. He wracked his brain, trying to solve this puzzle from a different world. “You don’t have to pretend, is that it? I was speaking generally.” He reached out and took Sam’s hand. “Is this about … about sharing?” 

Sam slowly shook his head ‘yes.’ He heaved a heavy sigh as he lifted his saddened gaze to Dean’s and studied his features in silence. He had started to think, to believe that maybe the reason that Dean had brought him here, that he had made the offer that neither he nor his Pa could refuse, was because the man was actually in love with him. It was a silly fanciful notion, one that only girls should entertain about the boys who kissed them secretly in barns. But Dean had done much more than kiss him, so in his innocence, it had been the only reasonable answer to why he was here, in this strange place. Hadn’t Dean acted jealous when he spent too much time with Crowley or anyone else for that matter? 

No, Sam had obviously misjudged the situation horribly. He was nothing more to Dean than another conquest among many. He found himself suddenly able to understand the disappointment he was sure the witch who had scarred Dean felt; believing one moment that he was special and the next knowing that he was not. He wrapped his arms around himself and shifted his weight, bending one leg at the knee slightly in an attempt to hide his nakedness from view. “I just... I’d really like to get dressed,” he murmured softly. 

“Sam, what is going on in that mind of yours?” Dean asked, struggling to get up. When he did and he was faced with an uncomfortable looking Sam, avoiding his gaze, a flash of irritation went through him. He was about to order Sam to tell him what was wrong, when something stopped him. 

“I’m sorry. For whatever I did wrong, I truly am,” he said, himself a bit awkward as he was unused to apologizing. “Sam?” 

Sam lifted his gaze to Dean’s and nodded. “I just thought...” he huffed out a breath and shook his head, “Never mind, it was stupid.” 

“I’m sure it wasn’t.” Leaning in, Dean rested his forehead against Sam’s for a moment. “I want you to be able to tell me anything. I want to make you happy. To give you both what you want, and what you need. Please. Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll fix it, I swear I will,” he said, holding Sam’s shoulders as he made his vow.

Sam couldn’t help the snort that passed his lips or the way he shook his head at his own stupid musings while diverting his gaze. “It was dumb, I dunno what I was thinking.” He finally met Dean’s eyes, a blush stealing over Sam’s cheeks. “I thought you liked me,” he confessed. “I know, dumb, right?” 

Dean’s eyes widened. “Wait... you thought I liked you and now you think I don’t like you?” His mind was spinning with thoughts of what he might have said to upset Sam, but he kept drawing blanks. “I like you. I like you a lot.” He kissed Sam lightly on the mouth. “I crossed universes for you, and I wasn’t even certain I could make it back or that you would come with me. When you laugh or smile, I feel something I haven’t felt in a century. Alive. And right now... right now, I am... I’m confused and happy and... I don’t know, I mean, just the thought that you are worrying about whether I like you or not.” A small laugh left Dean. “It astounds me. Humbles me. I would drop on my knees and reassure you, but …” he nodded toward his injured leg. 

“Do you want me to put up signs? Have the servants and castle folk sing songs of how much I like you?” Dean was teasing of course, but he sobered. “Tell me how to prove it to you.”

Sam’s blush deepened, but he lifted his hands to Dean’s hips, holding onto him while the man continued on and on until Sam found himself grinning and shaking his head by the end of it. “No grand gestures are necessary.” He pressed his lips together and eyed Dean a long moment. “Well, actually, maybe there is one. If we...If we make love... I was taught that you do it...that you do it for _love_ ,” he murmured softly, “Which is why there’s all the courting...so you can fall in love,” he explained. “If we make love, I don’t want to share you with the others...not even in your head,” he said, ducking his head down bashfully. 

It really was about being exclusive lovers. And more. Sam had said the word ‘love.’ Dean gripped the back of the chair to steady himself and stared open-mouthed at Sam. “Ah... yeah... you don’t...” He licked his suddenly parched lips and tried again. “I don’t plan to be with anyone else. Not in body, and not in my head, in my fantasies,” he said, once again cupping Sam’s chin and making him meet his gaze. “What I said before, about imagining, I meant that for you. That I wouldn’t mind if you had to pretend I’m someone else... but... but now look what you’ve gone and done! I think I would mind,” he said, the realization hitting him hard and making him step back. 

Sam’s lips curved into an embarrassed smile at what he felt was Dean teasing him. He shrugged a shoulder. “I know it’s dumb, but...If I’m _with_ someone like that... It should be...I dunno, _special_ ,” he murmured, “And, I guess I really don’t want to think about the person I’m with doing those same things with someone else. It’s supposed to be about love... and if a person is thinking about someone other than who they are with...” he shook his head, lips pulled into a tight firm line, “It’s not love.” 

Sam huffed a breath, “Bet you think all that’s pretty lame, huh? You probably don’t care if the person you’re with does it with everyone else in the castle, but...I just...I guess as pathetic as it is, it’s just not in me to be able to handle the idea of the person that I give myself to doing those things with someone else. Kissing, touching, knowing that someone else ran their hands over them, heard and saw how they respond...”

Sam knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t help it. “Melanie Heartsog wasn’t a virgin when she got engaged and Robbie Myer, and when he found out about it, he called the wedding off. My folks had him over for supper after that and he said that he just couldn’t stand the thought of someone else touchin’ and kissin’ his girl,” he explained.

“Your Robbie Myer sounds like a first class idiot. Do you really think he hadn’t touched any other girls before he got engaged?” Dean rolled his eyes. “And you, you’d kissed what’s her name....” he snapped his fingers. “Does that mean neither of you could ever find comfort or love in someone else’s arms?” He frowned, “Are you ruined now, just because you came in my mouth?” 

He closed his arms around Sam, just to be sure that the boy didn’t bolt away. “There’s nothing wrong with agreeing to be exclusive, there are some who still exchange promises like that,” Dean said. “But experience doesn’t ruin you. It only makes you...” he ran his hands over Sam’s chest, and tweaked his nipples, then bent his head and sucked on one of them, before lifting his head back up, “... better at pleasing the one you’re with.”

Sam started to back away at Dean’s words, his eyes wide, a dark blush staining his features at nearly being chastised for voicing his feelings and views. When the man’s arms closed around him and drew him in, stopping him from being able to walk away, he held himself stiffly, his hands having fallen away from Dean’s hips with the start of his words. He pressed his lips together and fought not to shove the man away when he toyed with his nipples. He ignored the sensations that the action caused and instead struggled to keep his features impassive rather than allowing Dean to see how much he had wounded his pride. 

“I only kissed Annabelle once and it was nothing like the way you kiss,” he whispered and turned his head to the side. “May I go?” He muttered, his words no longer holding any emotion. “I would like to dress and perhaps go with Crowley and Sarah to eat. She had invited me yesterday.” 

Dean felt as if Sam had poured a bucket of freezing cold water over him. “Do as you wish,” he answered in a clipped tone. He stared at Sam for a long moment, unable to reconcile the warm kisses and the smiles he’d been giving earlier, and this sullen boy. 

Turning around, Dean grabbed his cane and walked out of the room without looking back.


	9. Chapter 9

Wrapping a thick towel around him, Sam made his way to his chambers and searched for something to wear that didn’t make him look foolish or put him on display. He settled on a bright red button up shirt and a pair of jeans that Crowley must have sneaked in to protect his sensibilities. 

Once he was fully dressed, he headed down to the great hall in search of Crowley and a way to summon Sarah. It only took a few minutes to find Crowley and once he did, the man had Sarah on her way to the great hall within moments. They dined together in the kitchen and chatted about most everything, laughing and talking their way through their meal before retiring to one of the large libraries. 

Sarah and Sam sat on a large leather sofa and Crowley joined them, sitting in one of the wing backed leather upholstered chairs right across from them. Inevitably, the subject of their chatter turned to Dean and whether or not Sam was getting closer to him, was fond of him. 

Sam’s smile died away as soon as the topic came up and he sighed heavily, causing Sarah to reach for his hand as she inquired about the problem. When he lifted his head, his gaze swung to Crowley before returning to Sarah. “If I tell you...do you both promise not to say a word?” He asked. 

Sarah crossed her heart, a gesture she’d learned from Sam, and then the pair looked to Crowley. When he agreed to keep his silence, Sam shared what had happened between himself and the Prince. He explained that if he was going to give up the life he’d had, and his virginity, then he didn’t want to just be one of the Prince’s many conquests. He wanted _love_. He wanted _from this day forward._ Although he conceded that it was a lot to ask in this world where sex was as natural as breathing, it was how he felt and it would be a long time, if ever, that his position changed on the matter. 

The room fell silent for a long while, no one knowing what to say to relieve Sam’ despair; then suddenly, as if to break the tension, Sarah bounded on Sam, pushing him back against the cushions of the couch and began tickling him mercilessly. She straddled his waist mindless of the way her low cut silken dress hiked up in the process, showing off her matching ruffled panties. She laughed as Sam screamed with laughter and kicked and tried to fend off her tickling fingers. 

Dean stood at the door, watching. For all his talk of monogamy, his little innocent was consorting with Sarah without any of that guilt he should be feeling if he believed half the crap he spewed. Seeing Sam’s shirt ride up, and Sarah’s legs clamp around his bare waist, Dean gripped the door frame. His eyes grew dark and stormy and the temperature in the room suddenly dropped a good ten degrees.

Sam’s back arched as he laughed, eyes squeezed tightly closed and tears of laughter slowly rolling down his beet red cheeks. When Sarah abruptly stopped tickling him with an audible gasp, his eyes popped open. He gazed up at her in confusion, brows lifted and forehead creased before he followed her line of vision, head tilting back so that he could follow her gaze to the door, staring at Dean upside down. 

“I...uh, that is...we were just having fun, your Highness,” she stammered as she quickly climbed off Sam. 

Sam rolled onto his side before slowly sitting up on the couch. 

“Clearly,” Dean answered her, but his gaze locked with Sam’s. 

Sensing trouble, Crowley stood up. “Glad you decided to join us Highness. Sarah was just...”

“I _know_ exactly what Sarah was doing.” A muscle flexed in Dean’s jaw. “Practicing for me?” he supplied, his voice as cold as the ice beyond the walls.

Sam’s attention flickered to Crowley as he spoke then snapped back to Dean. His brow creased in confusion at Dean’s question before his eyes swung to Sarah who looked ready to hide under the furniture. He reached for her, taking her hand in his and pulling her back to the couch. 

“Sit,” he whispered when she tried to tug her hand free. 

Lifting his gaze back to Dean, Sam shook his head slowly, “We were only playing,” he murmured. “We didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Is that what your good friend … Robbie... would say?” Dean’s eyes grew darker, his eyes flicking to their joined hands. 

Sam’s eyes tightened. “I did nothing wrong. Sarah is my _friend_!” 

Sarah’s fearful gaze darted between Sam and Dean and she again struggled to slip her hand free of Sam’s grip. “Please, I just want to go,” she whispered. 

“Sarah, it’s alright,” Sam soothed. He turned to Crowley. “Crowley, say something,” he begged, jerking his head toward Dean while he continued to fight against Sarah’s anxious attempts to escape.

It was too much for Dean. Watching Sam holding her, making it clear he preferred her company to his own. Dean knew he hadn’t been imagining things. There had been _something_ between the pair of them, some connection, some energy... an attraction. 

“Your Highness, I was with them. There was nothing...” Crowley started.

“ _You_ should have stopped them,” Dean snapped. “And _you_ ,” he said, focusing on Sam, “will stop pretending shyness. You don’t like people watching you? Crowley was God damned watching you,” he shouted. “As for _you_... don’t let me see you around again,” he snarled at Sarah.

The shelves rattled as a cold breeze moved through the room. And then, Dean was gone.

Sam huffed in angry annoyance before returning his attention to Sarah, “Don’t listen to him,” he murmured gently. “ _I_ want you here. He already made it pretty clear that to him, everything goes,” he shook his head disgustedly, “I dunno why he was making such a big deal out of nothing.” 

He turned toward Crowley. “I’m taking Sarah to my room where we can be alone. It’ll keep him from being mad at you and I can still spend time with my friend, _safely_ , without _him_ barging in and acting like that.” 

He released Sarah’s hand and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, “Come on,” he murmured gently. “I’ll ask one of the servants to bring us up some hot chocolate.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, not at all,” Crowley told them. “If it’s happening, I don’t want to know about it... Call me if you need me,” he said, sailing away from trouble.

Sam grit his teeth and scoffed at Crowley, the man was his best friend here, he knew damn good and well that nothing past friendship was happening or had ever had happened between himself and Sarah. 

“Isn’t your chamber in His Highness’ personal wing of the castle? I don’t... No,” she said firmly. “Why don’t you come to my place instead?”

Sam gave a nod of agreement and followed her out. 

As they left the library, Sarah looked behind her. “He’s angry. Really angry. I don’t think I’ve seen him like that,” she said, as they walked down the long hallway. “Are you sure about this? He could exile us. Me.” The thought worried her enough that she was starting to pull away from Sam.

Sam didn’t understand what Dean was so angry about. Because he had been spending time with his friends, laughing? He scoffed at the audacity of the man and then his eyes widened when Sarah pulled away.

“Sarah, please,” he begged. “He’s already taken me away from my family, I’m not going to let him take you and Crowley too,” he vowed. “I won’t let him exile you. And...and if he does, I’ll leave with you. We can go back to my home, to the farm. Please, Sarah, it’ll be alright, I promise.” 

“You’d go outside the walls with me?” she asked. “You promise?” Everyone knew that neither the Prince nor the principality could afford to let Sam die. Outside the walls, without someone powerful like the Prince, it was a death sentence. 

“Promise,” he said, his lips curling into a smile.

Before they left the castle, the servants brought cloaks for each of them. It wasn’t bitterly cold, not like beyond the walls, but neither of them was dressed for the weather.

“Let’s run,” she suggested, her hand still in his as ran down the cobbled street toward town.

*

They stopped in front of a bakery in town. “Shall we get some pastries? I live right upstairs,” she said. 

Sam’s eyes widened with excitement and he nodded vigorously at the idea, “Can we get fresh baked bread and some butter too? My Ma and I used to love to go to the bakery in town and get slices of the freshly baked bread that they made.” 

She smiled and nodded. Inside, the bakery smelled wonderful. Sarah started to order and then felt the strange looks. Of course, they were wondering what she was doing with the Prince’s consort, and the _hope of the people_ , as they called Sam. Judging by what she’d seen, Sarah had to admit there wasn’t much hope of Sam finding love with their Prince. They were stuck with this curse, and they’d just have to make the best of it, as they had been year after year, decades upon decades.

“And hot chocolate,” she ordered, digging into her pocket and pulling out some coins with his Highness’ likeness on them. “Sam, would you like anything else?”

“No, but thank you,” he replied. “Had I known that you had to pay for them I would have...” he allowed his voice to trail off not exactly certain _what_ he would have done. It wasn’t as though he even had any money for back where he was from, let alone here. His lips curved downwards. “I’m sorry,” he offered with a nod toward the coins on the counter. “I didn’t think.” 

“Don’t be silly,” she bumped her shoulder against his. Nodding at him to take the cups of hot chocolate, and grabbing the bag of wrapped bread and butter, she walked out and around to the stairs.

The baker walked out behind them, watching as they headed upstairs. Disapproval was written all over his face.

Sarah pushed her door open. “Welcome to my humble abode. It’s no palace,” she said, then ran to the sofa and snatched up the vinyl bra and panty hanging off its arm.

 

Sam’s gaze began to roam about the interior of Sarah’s home only to have his attention dart to her as she hurried across the room. He caught the briefest glimpse of black vinyl before she hid it behind her back. His brow quirked curiously as he set the cups on the table and then tackled her back onto the sofa. 

“Lemme see,” he demanded between tickles as he gently but firmly pried her hands from behind her back. “Lemme see...” 

Her laughter turned to loud cries for aid, until she finally gave it up. “It’s not a big deal anyway,” she said, letting him have the bra. “Ever seen anything that shiny? It looks real nice with the torch light gleaming off it.

Sam’s brow creased in confusion as he lowered his gaze to the bra in his hands, turning the slip of material over this way and that. “Torch light?” he echoed as he lifted his eyes to hers, “What is it?” 

“Torchlight? You know... the torch’s on the wall, at the castle and in the dungeon? Fire... to give light.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, you mean this?” she asked, plucking the bra out of Sam’s hands. “It’s a bralette. Want to see it on me?”

Sam’s brow smoothed as he listened to her and his lips parted to tell her that he wasn’t that stupid, he meant what was the thing he held in his hands and why would she know about it in the torch light. When she finally picked up on what he was asking, he nodded in affirmation and quirked a brow at her offer. “Really?” He asked hesitantly. 

Despite his assurances that Sarah was only his friend he _was_ attracted to her. She was pretty and smart, funny and caring and giving. Everything a guy would want in a girl. He swallowed hard and nodded, “Yeah, sure,” he agreed, unsure if it was just plain curiosity that had him interested. 

Smiling, she moved to the middle of the room. Slowly, she unclasped the cloak and dropped it to the ground. Then she grabbed the bottom of her tight dress and shimmied as she pulled it up over her head. Moving her hand between her breasts, she unclasped her bra and let it fall to the ground. “Like what you see?” she asked, knowing she was skating on thin ice, but unable to resist. Sam was the only new face she’d seen in so long. And he was different, and sexy, and didn’t even realize it.

Sam’s eyes were wide and glued to her, his mouth slack. He stood to his feet and blindly reached for one of the mugs of cocoa, unable to pull his gaze from Sarah’s naked body. Sitting back down, he forced his gaze to lift from her breasts up to her face and swallowed hard, nodding once again. “Wow,” he breathed, never having seen a naked woman before, other than in the castle’s dungeon. 

“Wow,” she echoed. “No one looks at me like that. Not anymore.” She leaned over, close to him, her eyes clinging to his face. “Want to help me put it on?” she asked, slipping her arms loosely through the bra straps, and letting the material hang loose.

Sam’s eyes widened even further as he stared as if mesmerized for a long moment before shaking himself out of his stupor. He was embarrassed and ashamed to admit that his dick was pressing hard up against his zipper and his breaths were coming a tad faster. He swallowed again, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he nodded. “Y-yeah,” he breathed and moved to set the cup of cocoa aside before reaching out to her. 

“What...what do I do?” he inquired, a soft blush stealing over his cheeks. 

Just like that, she straddled his thighs and sat down. “Pull the two sides together and see the little metal hook on one side? Put it through the little round metal eyelet on the other side,” she said, leaning in so her breasts were exposed right in front of him. As his hot breaths fanned over her breasts, her nipples swelled and tightened into buds. 

Sam shifted in his seat and tried to hide the bulge in the front of his jeans. His gaze raked over her features and down along her body. His cock pulsed in his jeans and he could feel precome wetting his under garments. He tried to control his breathing, keeping it steady even as his hands shook uncontrollably. He reached for the sides of her bralette and started to do as she instructed, pulling the sides around behind her only to pause as she leaned in. He stared into her face, forcing himself not to look down at her bare breasts while retaining his hold on each side of her bralette. 

“Why?” He breathed softly before clearing his throat. “Why does no one look at you...like this, anymore?” he asked. 

“Because. Because they’ve seen me, and a hundred just like me,” she answered, shifting so her breast pressed against Sam’s palm. “Oh Gods. I wish...” her lips burned. Her breasts burned. She slid forward on his thighs, sucking her breath in at the press of his hard cock against her lacey panties. 

Sam gasped in a breath and jerked his hand back as though it had been burned, his eyes went comically wide and his breaths panted as though he had run a marathon. A tortured whimper broke from his throat when she moved forward on his lap and caused her crotch to rub against his. He squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head before lowering the hand he’d jerked away and releasing the side of her bralette with the other. He moved them to her shoulders in an attempt to keep temptation at bay and shook his head. 

“No,” he said, “We can’t...I can’t...” he panted. “I just met you... we haven’t courted or...” he gave his head a shake. “I like you...I like you a lot... but I like you as a friend. And I’ve never...” he shook his head again. “I can’t... I’m sorry.” It was confusing, to have his heart feel one thing, but his body yearn for another.

“It’s okay. Probably for the best,” she agreed, leaning in to kiss his cheek as she started to rise off his lap.

It was like a clap of thunder right in the house. The door splintered into a hundred parts, each laying on the ground. The wind whipped into the room from behind Dean who stood there, his eyes damning the two of them.

Sarah quickly closed the clasp of her bralette and slipped off Sam’s knees, her heart beating so strong, she thought it might stop. She couldn’t look at her Prince, or at Sam. Her head hanging down, she merely apologized under her breath.

Dean looked wild eyed at both of them, the baker who’d sent word to the castle standing behind him, then scurrying down the stairs. He took a few strides into the small house, picked up a cloak and threw it on Sam. “Put it on and get yourself to the castle. Now!” He barked, his gaze dark with fury.

Sam gulped in a breath and swallowed hard as he quickly jumped to his feet, shielding Sarah from Dean’s wrath. When the cloak was thrown at him he wrapped it around his body, thankful that it would conceal what was left of his erection from view. 

He glanced back at Sarah apologetically then turned and headed out of her home, figuring that her punishment, whatever that consisted of, would be less if he did as Dean. But if she was banished, he’d keep his word and find a way to join her outside the walls. 

A few warriors were waiting for Sam and ushered him onto the back of a horse, then accompanied him back to the castle. They left Dean’s horse behind.

* * *

When Sam was brought in to Dean’s study, Crowley was there, pacing. He looked up and closed his eyes for a moment. “What were you thinking, leaving the castle?” he demanded. 

Sam’s rather melancholy expression didn’t change as he shrugged. “I was going to visit a friend,” he answered. “I didn’t realize I was under arrest and imprisoned here.” 

“If you weren’t, you will be now. That baker came telling tales of the two of you being as snug as bugs in a rug. Don’t know what he saw, but he wasn’t talking about friendship, yeah?” He put his hand on his hip and cocked his head. “You haven’t gone and done something stupid, have you? With Sarah...?”

Sam sighed heavily in exasperation. Did everyone in this cursed land have a dirty mind? 

“I don’t know what he saw that would make him say anything like that,” Sam retorted. “We went into the bakery, Sarah bought us some pastries and some bread and butter for me, which I never got to have thanks to his Highness barging in, I might add. We got drinks, two hot chocolates, just like I suggested here. And then we went up to her room...” he lifted a hand and ran it down his face as he plopped into a chair. 

“Oh God, her room,” Crowely groaned. 

“That jerk was peeping in the windows!” Sam accused angrily with a huff as he pulled his hand away from his face. 

“I see. So I take it he saw something of a reportable nature.” Crowley paced away, then came back. “When he gets to the castle, you do not mention her name. You kiss him, you say whatever he wants to hear. You soothe the savage beast, if you know what’s best for you. For all of us, do you understand me, Sam?” 

Sam’s features fell but he nodded, “Yes, sir,” he mumbled. “But can I tell you what happened? It...it wasn’t that bad, I mean, it could have been...but I told her that I couldn’t. That we didn’t know each other well enough...” he insisted. “I meant the things I said to Dean, just as I meant them when I said them to her. I don’t just go around...doing _that_ without there being a reason... One involving the heart. I wasn’t brought up the way you people were.” He paused to take a breath. “I don’t suppose that matters now, no one is going to believe me, are they?”

“It depends. I don’t know what his Highness saw, now do I? So long as you didn’t go around doing _what we people do_ , I suppose everything will be alright.” He gave Sam a hopeful grin.

Sam sighed heavily and turned his head, lifting an elbow to the arm of the couch and resting his chin in his hand. 

“He saw her sitting on my lap, naked,” he muttered. “Well, mostly naked,” he shrugged a shoulder, “She still had on her underwear,” he amended. 

“Right, sounds very innocent. I hope you know how to grovel. Can I trust you to stay here?” Crowely asked. Then let out a sigh. “Would you like something to drink? Tea or spirits?” 

Sam shook his head, “Yeah, I’ve got nowhere to go now,” he responded. “M’not thirsty. Can I go to my room?” 

He met Crowley’s gaze as he stood up, “I swear nothing happened,” he insisted. “I wouldn’t lie to you, you’re my friend. I don’t lie anyway, but I especially wouldn’t lie to you. You’re probably the only friend I’ll have after this,” he sighed dejectedly. 

***

Sam lay in his bed, arms tucked back behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He’d changed out of the clothes he’d had on earlier and was now wearing his sweats again. 

He worried his lip, wondering how Sarah fared under Dean’s wrath. All he knew was that it would kill him to learn that Dean had hurt her in any way. She was now not only a friend, but the first girl he had ever seen naked, the first one he had ever touched, even if it was just by accident, so she held a special place in his heart. Closing his eyes, he wished for sleep to come and take him out of this nightmarish day. 

*

It was late into the night when Dean was calm enough to face Sam without killing him. Having been told where he was, Dean strode into Sam’s quarters. Naturally, the object of his desires was fast asleep.

Dean’s lips flattened into a straight line. He pulled up a chair and sat down. At one snap of his fingers, a servant brought him some spirits then left him again.

Staring hard at Sam, Dean drank down the liquor. Anger and hurt warred inside him. And something else. An unfamiliar feeling. Jealousy. 

His fingers tightened around his glass as he thought of Sarah straddling Sam and rocking against him. Just the way Sam had been straddling him this morning, before everything had gone wrong. Twice over.

 

Sam rolled over in his sleep and his brow furrowed at the feeling that someone was next to him. He forced himself awake enough to open his eyes and gasped in an audible breath, jerking away from the figure sitting near his bed. His gaze swept around the otherwise empty room before returning to Dean. “What…?” he started to ask what Dean was doing sitting there, but he heard Crowley’s voice in his head warning him against that idea. 

“What time is it?” Sam asked instead. What he really wanted to know was how Sarah was, what had happened, but he knew better than to push until he knew Dean’s mood. 

“Two a.m.” Dean knocked back a little more liquor. “Are you going to ask me about the weather next? Or maybe about the servants’ cleaning schedules?”

“If you’re just gonna sit there like that all night, I’m goin’ back to sleep,” he retorted groggily allowing his head to fall back against the pillow as he turned away from Dean. 

“Don’t.” Dean’s voice cracked like a whip, his stare boring into Sam.

Sam’s eyes opened and he lay perfectly still a moment before rolling back over to face Dean. 

“I expected better of you. I don’t know why. As you keep reminding me, I don’t know you. Still, you had me convinced. I actually believed your lies. Your innocent act. Even your protests that when we made love, you wanted only me in your head.” He snorted at that, and sliced his hand through the air. It was what hurt most. “I should have known better. I’m far too old to be taken by the likes of you.” Once more, he drank deep.

Sam sighed heavily and sat up in the bed, leaning back against the headboard as he listened to Dean berate him for a crime he hadn’t committed. “And Sarah, did you talk to her? Ask her what happened? Did she tell you that I turned her down? That I said to her the very same things about sex that I said to you, or did you just banish her out of your kingdom like she feared you would?” He shook his head and stared down at the coverlet on his bed a long moment. “I’ve never lied to you,” he continued. “And I didn’t _do/i > anything with Sarah. Ask Crowley if you don’t believe me; he’s the best friend I have here. Don’t you think that if I had sex for the first time I would share the news with him?” _

_There was only silence, and Sam felt like he had to fill it. “What’s it matter anyway? No matter what I say you’re going to believe what you want to.” He lifted his gaze to Dean’s. “So if I’m such a disappoint to you, I guess I’m going home now, huh? And you’ll be taking back your gift,” he lowered his gaze sadly once more._

_“Believe what I _want_? Don’t you mean believe what I fucking _saw_ , with my own eyes?” Dean demanded. “In the library. And I warned you. The both of you, and what did you do next? You sneaked off to her place. She was practically naked and sitting on top of you. You want me to believe she _accidentally_ lost her dress? Did her bralette accidentally pop open? And what of your dick? Did it pitch a damned tent in your pants because you were thinking of _me_?” He tossed his glass against the wall, smashing it into smithereens._

_Sam’s mouth opened and closed about a million times, ready to respond, to answer, to argue his side, only to be cut off by Dean before he could get a word in._

_The sound of shattering glass brought a servant running inside._

_“Out!” Dean shouted, then stood up. His leg hurt, but he barely acknowledged it and went back to yelling at Sam._

_“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To be sent back. For me to take back my gift. Then you could call me a monster and be done with it.” He dragged his gaze away and looked out the window for a long moment. Then he turned back. “I _am_ a monster. But not _that_ sort. I don’t lie. I don’t go back on my word. And I’m not a hypocrite,” he said, his tone making it clear he thought Sam was all of those things. _

_Sam shook his head adamantly. “It’s not like that!” he insisted as he threw back the covers and swung his legs out of bed, standing to his feet. “I know what you saw, and how it probably looked, but I was innocent. It was all a big mistake. We went to her place. She lives upstairs from a bakery, so we went in to get some pastries and bread and butter and we got hot chocolate to drink. We went up to her place and there was something laying on her couch and she raced to hide it. I tickled her to see what it was. It meant nothing, it’s a game. Haven’t you ever been tickled or tickled someone?” He paused and licked his lips as he gulped in air._

_“When she told me what it was and gave it to me. I didn’t know what she was talking about, I’d never seen a bra...bralette before. She offered to show it to me...wear it, so I could see it… I didn’t think she would change right there in front of me!” he insisted._

_Sam paused to draw in more air. “She came over and sat down on my lap...I didn’t really know what to do. She asked me to fasten it for her and I froze. I didn’t know how and I was shaking because I’d never seen a naked girl up close before, let alone have one in my lap! The next thing I knew, I was telling her that I couldn’t do _that_ with her, I explained about courting and that I’m … I don’t do things like you people. That was about the time you broke down her door,” he finished softly. _

_“That’s enough. It’s really enough,” Dean said, raising his hand. “This morning, you were in my lap. Your face...” He felt his damned eyes sting as he recalled how sad he’d made Sam, and he didn’t even know what he’d done to make him sad. “But with her, in your lap... you were smiling. I get it. She does it for you and I don’t. I get it,” he repeated through gritted teeth, trying to force himself to accept the truth. “I’m no Patrick. I won’t force you to... I don’t want you like that.”_

_He turned away and walked to the door, limping only slightly. Then he turned around. “You will have breakfast and dinner with me, you will share my bed at night, but I will spare you from … I won’t be fucking you. You can do what you want, with anyone you want, just do it out of my sight,” he spat out, before he left the room._

_Sam’s mouth fell open, he hadn’t had a chance to deny Dean’s claims and Dean had obviously refused to listen to anything he _had_ said. He sighed heavily with misery and dropped down onto the edge of his bed, head hanging in his hands. How did this day wind up going to horribly wrong? _

_*_

_Completely naked as usual, Dean sat in bed, having another drink. If Sam didn’t get his ass into his bed in another ten minutes, he was going to need an answer as to why it was he thought he could thumb his nose at his orders._

_Leaning back against the pillows, he thought back on his reaction on seeing Sam with Sarah. Trying to tell himself all this anger came from having been lied to, having been made a fool of, he took a swig of his liquor. It deadened some of the pain, but it didn’t stop his mind from going to dark places. What was the real reason he was feeling this way? It could not be jealousy. He was not one given to jealous rages. It should not bother him that someone else laid their hands on Sam, that Sam had kissed someone, held them, maybe whispered lies to them, the same way he had to Dean in the morning. What did he care if Sam did that with one or with twenty people?_

_He didn’t. Care, that was. Damned straight. It was just that his pride had taken a blow. And the truth, that Sam hadn’t really meant any of the things he’d said about wanting to make love and not being disgusted by his scarred body. It was hard to take, even if he should have known better than to believe, or to hope._

_*_

_Sam rolled his eyes as he stood in the middle of his room dressed in nothing but red skin tight silk briefs with his arms held out at his sides while Crowley sprayed him with what he promised was full of enough pheromones to fix any lovers spat and have Sam back in the Prince’s good graces in no time._

_Sam on the other hand doubted that very much and found the whole idea of what Crowley was attempting a waste of their time, not to mention he was late getting into his Highness’ bed. “Are you about finished yet?” Sam half whined._

_He nodded in relief once Crowley took a step back and stopped spraying him from head to toe with that perfume bottle. “I thought that only girls wore perfume,” he muttered, dropping his arms to his sides. “Can I go now?”_

_“Not yet.” Crowley moved in and tugged Sam’s shorts down low on his hips. “Don’t pull them back up,” he admonished. “And don’t walk too fast. Give him a good show.”_

_Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, “I think he’ll have a good show anyway, you can see everything through these, they’re so tight,” he grumbled. “Now can I go?”_

_At Crowley’s nod, he headed to the door that adjoined Dean’s bedchamber. Pausing a moment, he knocked and waited for Dean’s clipped ‘enter,’ before stepping inside. He paused there long enough to turn and pull the door closed behind him, giving Dean a great view of his ass in the process. Turning back toward Dean, he made his way slowly toward the bed, his bare feet padding against the wood floor, and then sinking into thick rugs._

__I sure hope Crowley’s right about this, otherwise I just look stupid and smell like a girl_ he thought, keeping his eyes lowered._

_Dean’s fingers tightened around the glass in his hand. He’d expected to see Sam in the stupid sweat pants and top that he’d managed to dig up from somewhere, or something similar to cover him up from head to foot and make him as inaccessible as possible. Instead, here he was, dressed the way Dean had wanted all along._

_It was a trick. It was meant to pull him into a non-existent fantasy, he told himself, his eyes narrowing. And yet, it was a damned fine trick. His eyes were laser focused on Sam, hotly traveling up and down his body, taking in the sight of lean muscles rippling slightly as he walked. His gaze dropped lower. Dammit, did he have to be wearing red? Dean found himself sucking in a deep breath, his gaze lingering on the waistband of Sam’s tight red briefs, before moving over the clear outline of his cock._

_He licked his lips and tried hard to look away, but he couldn’t. The fire in the fireplace roared up, heating the room the way Dean’s blood was heating up._

_Sam glanced at Dean from under his brows as he slowly crossed the distance from the door to the bed. Well, it seemed as though Dean was definitely watching him, but it sure didn’t look as though he had forgotten all about his rage ‘upon seeing him,’ like Crowley had promised. He pressed his lips together in a thin line and heaved a soft sigh of frustration and defeat._

_Once he had made it to his side of the bed, the parade was over and there would be no victory celebration. He hadn’t been able to do as Crowley had said he would, putting the Prince’s mood back to rights with the lovely sight of his bare body. Sam harrumphed to himself at what a stupid idea that was. He wasn’t anything special looking so why would a _Prince_ of all people change just by the mere sight of his bared body? The very idea was ridiculous. He reached for the bedding and threw it back before silently climbing into the bed and pulling the blankets and soft sheets up to his chin. _

_“Good evening, Highness,” he mumbled softly as he turned away from Dean on his side, laying as close to the edge of the bed as possible, not wanting to again incur his Highness’ wrath._

_Dean didn’t answer, but he never looked away, and he wanted to rip the sheets back down when Sam pulled them all the way up. There was a gulf... a distance between them... that anyone could see. His lips tightened when Sam gave him his back and practically underlined the distance by scooting as close to the edge of the bed as he could without falling off._

_Leaning his head back against the cushioned headboard, Dean couldn’t help imagining a different scenario. One that had Sam sauntering into his bedroom with a smile on his lips. A smile meant for Dean. Not for Crowley, and not for Sarah. Just for himself._

_A silly, stupid fantasy. He rolled his eyes at his own thoughts. But they didn’t stop. They tumbled on in his head. Sam moving closer, getting on the bed on his knees, swinging his hips and showing off his cock straining against the briefs. Straining to be freed by Dean. Not by..._

_Thoughts of what he’d seen at Sarah’s place crowded his mind. He wrenched himself away from them, looked up and snapped an order under his breath. The oil lamps snuffed out and the fire burning in the fireplace grew much dimmer._

_He stared into the dark for a few minutes, trying to clear his mind. But when he shifted and laid down, rolling onto his side toward Sam, he made the mistake of taking a deep breath, inhaling Sam’s scent._

_It made him dizzy. Dizzy with long forgotten needs. Dizzy with longing. Dizzy with desire._

_It wasn’t fair._

_He didn’t want this._

_No, he wanted this. But not like this. He wanted his fantasy. Someone. Sam. To come to him, to want him. Only him._

_His eyes opened suddenly. Where had that thought come from? It was idiotic, and old fashioned, as in a notion from centuries upon centuries ago. He would put it out of his mind. Completely._

_Long after he’d closed his eyes, he was tortured by Sam’s scent. Drawn to it. Thoughts of how he smelled and how he tasted swirled in his head and had his body tensing, pushing sleep away as his need sharpened._

_“ _Sonovabitch._ ” Cursing out of frustration, Dean suddenly moved closer to Sam and reaching out, pulled him up hard against his body, spooning behind him. Burying his face between Sam’s neck and shoulder, he inhaled deeply, moaning softly as his blood warmed._


	10. Chapter 10

After Dean caused the lights to go out and the fireplace to dim, Sam lay there for a long while, thinking. How badly had he messed things up? He hadn’t truly done anything wrong. He’d told her no. If he hadn’t, if he hadn’t wanted to see where this relationship with Dean would go, he very well might have told her yes. 

His eyes widened at his the realization of just how much this place had changed him already. Normally, he would never have even entertained the notion of bedding a girl outside the bonds of matrimony. His brow furrowed and he gave his head a slight shake in an effort to clear away the confusing thoughts. All he knew was that he’d meant what he’d said to Dean - if and when he gave himself to someone, he wanted it to be for life, forever with that person, in love. Just as it was for his Pa and Ma, that was the kind of relationship he wanted. 

He sighed sadly, at the knowledge that it was probably the type of relationship that he could never, would never have with Dean. The irritating man would never allow it, would see it as a weakness and as stupid. His lips curved down and he gripped the edge of the mattress with one hand, squeezing his eyes tightly closed while wishing sleep would come swiftly. 

A minute had barely passed when Dean’s arm wrapped around him, tugging him away from the edge and into Dean’s arms. His eyes snapped open and he gasped in a soft breath, his gaze lowering to Dean’s hand flat against his abdomen. 

Sam blinked several times to try and clear his vision and realized only then that he had been crying. He lifted one hand and quickly swiped the wetness from his eyes while he laid his other hand atop of Dean’s, lacing their fingers together. He sniffled softly before his tongue darted out, licking across his lips. “I never betrayed you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m still a virgin. You can hate me if you want, but...” he shook his head, “I don’t want to hate you.” 

“I want to hate you.” Dean pressed their linked hands tighter against Sam’s warm skin. “But I find I can’t.” That too, frustrated him to no end. How could one boy from some backwards planet make him lose control over his emotions? 

“You think I don’t understand you, but you don’t understand me either.” Dean brushed his mouth across Sam’s neck, kissing it lightly. “I don’t care about whether you’re a virgin or not. It means nothing to me, other than it seems to mean something to you.” He didn’t owe this boy an explanation, and yet, Dean found himself trying one more time. 

“What I crave is what you give so freely to others. Your laughter. Your pleasure. Your desire. The things I have to _work for_ but which they elicit so damned easily.” His voice grew a little hoarse. “I know you can’t help it. I know what I am,” he nodded. “But it would be a lot less cruel if you stopped pretending. Stopped telling me you see beyond this. Don’t. Just don’t say those things to me.” Realizing his fingers were clenched tight around Sam’s and might be hurting him, Dean relaxed his hand.

Sam’s brow creased in confusion as he listened to Dean. His gaze darted down toward their hands and he grimaced at how tightly Dean squeezed his fingers, but refused to complain about it. He did however, release a breath in relief when Dean eased his grip. He mulled over the man’s words and still found himself coming up slightly confused. He turned, rolling over and then scooting slightly so that he could lay on his back where he could look into Dean’s face, his hand still firmly clutching Dean’s. 

“And just what is it that you are?” Sam inquired softly. 

“You know what I am.” Dean refused to say the word _monster_ yet again.

“I’m not pretending...anything,” Sam whispered gently. 

There was a silence, so Sam tried to explain himself again. “I... Crowley was the first one to be nice to me, and then you didn’t want me to be his friend, or at least told me to never mention his name. He said you had friends picked for me, and when I befriended one, you didn’t like it. I never intended things with her to go where they did...but I never touched her,” he murmured. His gaze lowered, “Well, okay, I touched her, but I’d never seen...had a girl touch me...so, I guess I reacted, and I was kind of shocked and slow to think straight, but...it was never going to go any farther than that. Like I told you, that’s just not who I am. I was taught that you don’t _do_ that until you are married...or at the very least madly in love,” he shook his head, “I am none of those things with Sarah.”

He bit his lip as he awaited Dean’s response, his own words, his invitation that he had extended to Dean to make love with him earlier in the day running through his head. His cheeks flushed brighter with the memory. He was starting to have feeling for Dean. He didn’t understand it, they argued more than they spoke, and everything that Dean said usually circled around sex. Still, the feelings, the start of a connection was there. Not that he figured Dean would actually believe him, not anymore. 

_I am none of those things with Sarah._ Sam’s words echoed over and over in Dean’s mind. Whether it was intended or not, Dean couldn’t miss the implication that since Sam had said he’d like to make love with him, that Sam did in fact feel those things or something close to those things, for himself. Maybe this morning he might have accepted that. 

“You refused her,” he allowed, both because Sam’s protests had the ring of truth and because it matched what Sarah had told him. “Only because of … of your beliefs about how these things should proceed. You don’t love her, so you won’t allow yourself to fu... to make love to her.” It grated, bringing her name into it again and again, yet it was inescapable. “But you don’t love me either. I don’t imagine you ever will.”

The sharp, unexpected stab of pain had Dean quiet for a long moment. “One day, I expect you will find someone. Someone whole. Someone who can make you laugh. Who you’d want to court or be courted by.” He felt a hot tear slip out from the corner of his eyes. “I know it won’t be me, that it can’t be.”

There. The bitter truth was out.

It would have been the end of it, of the discussion. But with each breath, Dean felt the buildup of sexual need. For this man, this boy in his arms and in his bed. 

“What if...” Dean freed his hand and ran his palm over Sam’s chest, moving in circular motions as he went lower, over his taut abs. “What if you compromised your principles. Let me show you some of the pleasures of the flesh? I told you, there are a hundred pleasures we could engage in and you’d still be a _virgin_.” Palming Sam’s cock, he pulsed his hand over it, kissing Sam’s neck if only to prevent himself from groaning at the feel of Sam’s hard length through the thin silk briefs. “Then when you find your perfect partner, you can pleasure her or him. I will... I will let you go at the end of one year.”

All his dreams, and the dreams of his people, of being free of the curse had shattered. At least he might get a little pleasure out of it, if Sam could be talked into it. 

Sam swallowed hard past the lump in his throat, past the pain in his chest and the torn feelings in his heart. He was shocked to his very core to discover that he actually didn’t _want_ to leave. He wanted to go home sure, but he also didn’t want to leave Dean...or Crowley. They had, even in this short time, come to mean something to him. 

He found himself lifting a hand, the pad of his thumb gently brushing across the skin below Dean’s eye, wiping away the wetness of tears. But the gentle gesture was eclipsed by the unexpected lustful movement of his body, his hips thrusting, pressing his cock more firmly into Dean’s palm. 

A soft grunted moan broke from Sam’s throat and he found it difficult to talk. “In one year, if I don’t love you... and you don’t love me...” he nodded, “I’ll go. But if you love me...and I love you, then you have to marry me,” he offered. “Deal?” 

Dean had started to close his eyes when Sam wiped away his tears but the unexpected offer had him staring at Sam, his mind and heart racing. A second chance? “You... you think you could love me?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion and wonder, perhaps even disbelief. 

Sam turned his head more toward Dean, looking quizzically up at him. “Why not? If you stop being such a jug head all the time, it’s possible.” 

“Did you just call your prince a jug...” Dean shook his head at Sam’s impertinence, unsure whether he ought to be miffed or amused. “Let me get this straight. If you... if we fall in love with each other, you want to do something as old fashioned as... marrying me?” Clearing his throat, he suddenly took his hands off Sam and got up on his elbows so he could look down into his face. The firelight sparked up. 

“Sam Winchester, are you _courting_ me?” There was a hint of a smile at the uplifted corners of Dean’s lips and light crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Sam’s eyes widened, “You know my name!” he exclaimed. A giggle worked out of him and his features flushed a bright crimson, “I dunno, I think maybe you’re courting me too so... It’s only proper,” he reasoned with a coy shrug. 

“Huh. So maybe... every other day, it’s Castican courting rules. Those require fewer clothes than Earth rules. You know?” Dipping his head down, Dean blew on Sam’s nipple, and once it pebbled, ran his tongue around it a few times. 

Sam sucked in a breath breath, his eyes widening before he lowered his attention to his own chest, watching Dean tease his nipple. His eyes squeezed closed and his back arched, brow creasing in an almost pained expression when Dean’s warm wet tongue swirled around the sensitized bud. His hands moved, reaching for Dean, gripping his bare shoulders tightly. 

“And less talk.” Dean added, raising his eyes and meeting Sam’s intense gaze, he smiled. “I take it you’re good with that?” Licking his lip, he made as if to lower his head, but paused.

Sam’s lashes fluttered as his eyes opened at the sound of Dean’s voice. He stared at Dean somewhat awestruck before answering. “Talking is good. How am I gonna get to know you and love you if I don’t _talk_ to you?” he asked with a pointed look. His lips quirked up into a smile. “And I think you like that I point out to you when you’re being a jerk. It’s why you’ll wind up loving me.”   
Hmph.” Dean gave him a mock glare. “And I think you like this...” he blew on Sam’s wet nipple, taking satisfaction in watching it harden into a tight bud. “...and this,” he said, kissing Sam very lightly. “Or you’d have tried to negotiate your way out of it. Am I right?” he demanded, his gaze lingering on Sam’s lips.

Sam gasped softly once more and his back arched slightly despite himself when Dean went back to teasing his nipple. His lips parted far too willingly for Dean’s kiss and he wound up flattening his lips into a thin perturbed line when Dean pulled his head back, his gaze riveted on Dean’s face. “You know, this is one of those ‘jerk’ moments I was telling you about,” he replied flatly. 

“Oh no, no, no, no,” Dean countered, shaking his head from side to side. “It’s one of those... talking and getting to know each other moments that you like so much. So tell me. Do you want to come in my arms?” His eyes burned brightly at the thought of bringing Sam off in his bed.

Sam’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he wound up choking on his own spit. He sat up in the bed, coughing and sputtering, scandalized by the question. Once he managed to stop choking, he turned his stunned attention to Dean. 

“You’re not supposed to _ask me_ that kind’a thing!” he exclaimed. “You - you...it’s just something that either happens, or it doesn’t, you don’t _talk_ about it, like asking whether or not I wanna go fishin’!” he explained incredulously. 

“You don’t?” Eyebrows raised in question, Dean searched Sam’s face, wondering if this was a joke.. 

Sam silently shook his head, his wide eyed gaze still locked with Dean’s. 

“Well that’s a damned shame, because do you know how much pleasure you can get just from _talking_ about it? You don’t?” Dean asked again at the slight shake of Sam’s head. “Listen.”

Sam allowed himself to flop back against the pillows again as Dean spoke and once again he shook his head in answer though his brow creased softly as he thought that question over, thought about the words he had just spoken. He didn’t _think_ that you were supposed to talk about it, but he didn’t know for sure. He had no idea the things that his Ma and Pa had spoken of in the dead of night. In any event, he figured he’d better stick to his guns least Dean wound up having him doing all manner of indecent things!

Leaning over Sam, Dean didn’t allow any part of his body to touch Sam’s, but he whispered hotly into Sam’s ear. “I’m so damned hot for you, want you so bad. Want to kiss you. Baby, I want to push my tongue inside your mouth and tongue fuck you until we both run out of air. Want to kiss you all over. Want to wrap my lips around your hard dick and suck you down. Do you want that? Want to fuck my mouth?” he asked.

Rolling slightly away, he looked pointedly at Sam’s groin. “Now how are we supposed to do _that_ if we’re not to talk about it?”

Sam was skeptical at first, but then his body started to betray him. The deep timbre of Dean’s voice, the words that he spoke and the things that he said had his heart racing. He found his breaths hitching and his lips parting invitingly at the idea of Dean kissing him, even tongue fucking his mouth, though his cheeks flushed a deep scarlet at the notion. When Dean mentioned the things that he had done to him the very day he had arrived, Sam gasped in a breath and felt his dick pulse and twitch as his eyes flew open to stare wide eyed up at Dean. 

A part of Sam, a very naughty part of him wanted to nod his head, but he forced himself to remain very still, throat convulsing as he swallowed hard. “Y-you can kiss me,” he offered in a small meek voice. 

Dean wished he could read Sam’s mind, but one thing he was able to read was his reactions. Despite his demur verbal response, Dean had no doubt Sam wanted everything he’d just offered. It was there in his eyes, in the nervous way he was swallowing, in the flush that covered his cheeks, and it was there in his shorts, his cock straining against the thin material. 

Sam’s tongue darted out, licking across his lips as his cheeks once again, flushed a deep shade of crimson. He shook his head and lowered his gaze as he tried to find the words to express what was in his heart. Lifting his eyes to Dean’s face, he tried to explain his feelings. 

“I - I don’t want to be...” he began only to have his words trail off as he frowned at himself, at the simpering tone to his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again, “I know that I am not special in your eyes,” he allowed. “But I want to be,” he quickly added. “I mean...if I...if _we_ make love, I would like it to be... _special_.” 

“You really have no idea how special you are to me?” Dean stroked the side of Sam’s face with his knuckles. “Sam, I haven’t had anyone, been with anyone, except you the other night, in... decades. I go to the dungeons at times, for entertainment, but my participation is minimal. A few kisses. Or I wield a flogger, but I haven’t had sex in a very, very long time.”

Sam’s eyes slipped softly closed at the feel of Dean’s knuckles lightly brushing along his cheek. His lashes fluttered as he reopened his eyes to gaze up at Dean when he drew his hand away. He listened silently though his brow creased with a jealousy he had no rights to when he thought of Dean kissing someone, anyone else. 

Dean closed his eyes and remembered the distant past. Once, he’d spent most of his free time having sex. That was a lifetime ago. Now, now he could hardly believe his body’s reactions to Sam. 

Sam’s tongue darted out, licking nervously across his lips as he watched Dean’s eyes slip closed and he was struck with awe in that moment as he noted just how beautiful this man was; despite the scars that seemed to weigh heavy upon his heart and his soul. 

Dean opened his eyes. “I guess you might say I’m sort of a virgin, I mean after decades of being in a ‘dry spell.’ A virgin with lots and lots of technical knowledge, about how to suck and kiss, and touch. Where to rub. How to get you hard without ever touching. Is your mouth aching for mine, yet? Are you getting hot for me?” he asked, rolling close and pressing his naked flesh against Sam’s side. 

Sam’s lips curved upward in a tentative smile at Dean’s claim to virginity, realizing it was an obvious attempt at not making him feel quite so out of place. He captured his own bottom lip between his teeth as his gaze dipped to Dean’s lips and he was about to make a move when the man’s next words asking him things that should not be spoken aloud took the wind out of his sails. 

“We’re really gonna have to work on that whole jug head thing, aren’t we?” Sam grumbled. 

“We’re gonna have to work on _something_ ,” Dean agreed, though he damned well didn’t mean what Sam meant. “You’ll get over your repression, and you’ll see how good it feels to be free. In fact, I’m gonna start to free you right now,” he threatened, lowering his mouth over Sam’s. Cupping the side of his face, he invaded Sam’s mouth with his tongue, exploring every wet, hot corner. He’d just started to roll on top of Sam when there was a hard knock on the door.

Before Dean had a chance to answer, it opened.

Sam’s mouth fell open and he started to deny being repressed only to have it snap closed on a sharp intake of air as he found himself suddenly _beneath_ Dean. He was half glad and half uncertain exactly _how_ he felt about it, when a knock sounded at the door to their room. 

“Get out,” Dean snarled, waving his hand and not bothering to see who it was.

“Sorry your Highness, it’s time to check your bandages,” the doctor answered. 

When Dean rolled onto his back, the blanket rolled under him.

“Well, at least some parts are quite healthy,” the doctor declared with a smile.

“Just get it over with quickly,” Dean groused. “Leg’s mostly healed and shouldn’t need re-bandaging.” His magic had replenished. Tugging on the sheets, he pulled them over Sam. But if Sam thought he was doing it on account of the boy’s shyness... he was dead wrong.

Sam pressed his lips tightly together and tossed a bit of the sheets over Dean’s own very visible erection, while staring at him pointedly. “Jerk,” he ground out from between his teeth, quiet enough that only Dean would hear him. 

While the doctor was busy undoing the bandaging on his leg, Dean ran his hand under the covers and cupped Sam’s cock, squeezing it lightly. “Do you feel good, or do you need the doctor to take a look at you?” 

Sam’s eyes widened and his mouth fell slack as Dean’s hand found its way to his dick and his gaze darted back and forth between Dean and the doctor pointedly, the look on his face all but screaming, ‘ _are you out of your friggin’ mind? There is someone in the room with us you big jug head!_ ’

“I _feel_ perfectly fine,” Sam ground out between his teeth. 

Sam pulled up in the bed, sitting next to Dean and turned his attention to the doctor, “Um, doctor...uh,” he didn’t know the doctor’s given name. “Uh, I use to tend to my sister, she was very sick...I think that I could probably see to His Highness’ leg...the changing of the bandages,” he gave a one shouldered shrug, “It doesn’t seem all that _hard_.” 

He elbowed Dean for the snicker he could all but _feel_ about to break from the man for the dog gone double entendre he’d just accidentally walked right into. 

“Oh, it’s hard. Very hard,” Dean countered, despite the sharp jab. He squeezed Sam again, making very sure Sam knew what he was talking about. 

“It’s nice and dry,” the doctor commented, seeing there was no pus or infection.

“And that’s about to change. I mean if I get my mouth on it...”

“It’s not snakebite, your Highness,” she said dryly. 

“No, it’s not. But it’s very... very... swollen.” He looked over at Sam. “Should I kiss it better?”

Sam’s eyes tightened as he glared at Dean. He tore his gaze from Dean, returning his attention to the doctor who now, in his opinion, just seemed to be doddling. “Excuse me, I am not sure how you people do medicine or what you think is needed here, but I’m pretty sure I can take care of it. Even backwards folks like me know how to change a bandage in less time than you’ve managed to do it. So, if you could go ahead and leave, I think I’ve got everything under control.” 

The doctor gave Sam a sharp look, hesitated, then glanced at Dean.

“I guess Sam wants to play _master_ ,” Dean said, surprised by Sam’s assertiveness. Though he had seen signs of it before, it was easy to forget about when he was timid about the things people did in bed. “Leave the bandaging to him. Doctor, tell the guard that no one is to disturb us.”

“Yes your Highness. Master Sam,” she nodded. “Do you require--”

“Whips and chains? Blindfolds? I don’t know, do you require them, Master Sam?” Dean asked, laughter in his voice. “Doctor, we’re done here.”

Bobbing her head, she took her medical back and left them alone.

Sam’s face was the color of a beet by the time the doctor walked out and closed the door behind her. He turned back to Dean and shot him an annoyed look. “There’s that jerk thing again.” 

Sighing heavily Sam flopped back against the bed again and closed his eyes, “Maybe you should go to sleep, _she_ seems to think you need someone to hover over you all night long.” 

“I agree with her professional opinion. Hover over me, Sam,” Dean urged, dropping a kiss on Sam’s shoulder, then on his chest. “Hover over me like this,” he whispered, kissing his way down Sam’s side, loving how his muscles flexed and tightened under his lips.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to show that he was unmoved despite his body’s reactions. After another minute of Dean’s teasing mouth along with the words that continued to flow from it like endless lava, Sam abruptly moved. Sitting half up and turning toward Dean, he grabbed the prince by the shoulders and sealed his mouth over Dean’s in an attempt to shut him the hell up. 

“Mmph.” Not one to waste a gift, unexpected and sweet as it was, Dean immediately parted his lips and kissed Sam back, tangling his tongue with Sam’s. When Sam didn’t pull away, Dean cupped the back of Sam’s head, running his fingers through his silky hair and kissing him a little harder. Their argument. All the anger that had been simmering in him for too many hours. It melted away. All there was at this moment was Sam, and his hot, delicious kisses. 

Sam nipped at Dean’s bottom lip, a move he’d picked up from the man himself, and the corners of his lips quirked upward in a slightly smug smirk at the way Dean moaned in response. He pulled his head back and searched Dean’s features, his eye lids slightly passion heavy. “That’s allowed in Castican courting I assume?” he murmured. 

Sam’s tongue darted out, licking across his lips as he continued to study Dean’s face. “Why?” He asked softly. 

“Why?” Lifting his hand, Dean traced the firm contours of Sam’s lips. “Why what?”

“You said you’re like a virgin...again,” he explained. “Why did you stop going to the dungeon for sex?” he inquired, brow creasing with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. 

Dean shook his head. He had no idea. “Maybe I was waiting for you?” he whispered, pushing Sam’s hair back and cupping the side of his face. Or maybe whatever Patrick had done had slowly sapped that joy away from Dean too.

Sam’s lips curved into a wide smile despite himself as he shook his head. “I’m backwards, not female,” he admonished gently, “I know enough not to believe in stuff like that.”

Of course he had also been taught to believe that magic did not exist and that supernatural powers were the work the devil, or witches who consorted with Satan, dancing with him along with all manner of other unspeakable things under the light of a full moon. 

His throat convulsed as he swallowed hard and then captured his own bottom lip between his teeth. Slowly he released his lip, allowing it to slip slowly free from between his teeth. “You...you have beautiful eyes,” he murmured, lips curling into a smile. “Green. My sister has green eyes too,” he mused with a slight shrug, “Like our Pa...” 

“Once,” Dean agreed, knowing full well that the scarring around one of his eyes was so bad it had to be painful just to look at him. He turned his face slightly away, an almost pained smile curving his lips at the beautiful lies Sam told. “So... now we’re family.”

Sam chuckled softly as he gave a slight shrug, “One day maybe,” he allowed gently. 

Dean gave a nod. His eyes lifted to Sam’s face and he sucked in a breath as he studied the boy’s even features, his slightly slanted exotic eyes and sensuous, well-formed lips. “We’ll make a fine pair. Beauty and the beast,” he said, knowing that people already called them that, though not to his face.

Sam’s brow furrowed with confusion and a sort of anger, the same kind of anger he used to feel when the other kids would make fun of his sister for not being able to run as fast as they could or climb as high. 

“Why do you say things like that about yourself?” He demanded. “So, you’re different. Big deal. It doesn’t make you any less special or important,” he insisted with a disgusted shake of his head. “The other kids use to poke fun at my sister too...because she was different. She couldn’t do the things that they could so they called her names and were mean to her.” 

“Don’t you go feeling sorry for me,” Dean said almost gruffly. “I _am_ important, and no one says anything to my face. Anyway, they’re not saying anything I haven’t thought. It is what it is.” Somehow, he could see Sam defending his sister to scores of other kids. “Now, let’s forget about all this. C’mere and kiss me,” he ordered, crooking his finger. 

Sam’s brow creased at Dean’s abrupt command. He was trying to tell him, like he’d had to tell his sister so often, that people shouldn’t be mean to people who were different. Differences meant that God had something special in mind when He had made them. Although Dean was cursed this way, the same principle applied. 

“I won’t feel sorry for you if you stop feelin’ sorry for yourself,” he challenged with a lift of his brows. “And I’ll kiss you, if you stop battin’ every nice thin’ I say to you away like an old barn cat toyin’ with a mouse.” 

Taken aback, Dean gave Sam a long stare. No one had talked to him like that in a long, long time. He opened his mouth and for once, found he had nothing to say. Licking his lips, he leaned in. “Just kiss me already, before another century passes.” His mouth brushed over Sam’s. He’d had enough _talk_.

Sam returned Dean’s kiss, allowing his tongue to slip from between his lips and teasing at the corners of Dean’s, giggling when Dean sucked in a breath of surprise before deepening the kiss and cutting off Sam’s laughter. 

He lifted a hand and tentatively reached for Dean. He wasn’t certain how a man was supposed to kiss another man, but he knew how he would kiss someone he loved. He lay his palm against the side of Dean’s jaw, cupping his face tenderly, allowing the pad of his thumb to brush along Dean’s softly scruffed jawline. 

The kiss was tender and sweet, like it came from the heart. Surprised, Dean pulled back. His lips burned, but that was to be expected. The warmth... the burn in his heart, that was completely unexpected. 

“You make me feel things, things I’ve never felt,” Dean whispered, his voice full of wonder. “And I don’t mean just in the last decades. I mean... _ever_. How’s that for frank courtin’ talk?” He asked, giving a self-conscious smile.

Sam didn’t just smile, he _beamed_. “Next you’re gonna be tellin’ me I give you butterflies,” he said in disbelief, certain that Dean’s words were meant to lure him into the man’s bed, figuratively speaking of course, since he was already there. 

“Now who’s batting every compliment?” Dean asked, eyebrow raised. 

Sam shook his head, “It’s not that, it’s just... I mean... you live in a _dungeon_ ,” he retorted. “I can’t believe that I’d be able to do much of anything for you after something like that.” 

“Well, I’m definitely not immune to you.” There might have been a time when he’d been somewhat jaded and it took extremes to turn him on or make him feel anything deep. “Feel,” he said, taking Sam’s hand and putting it over his own heart which was still racing slightly. 

Sam tentatively pressed his palm over Dean’s heart. His eyes widened slightly with surprise and his gaze lifted to Dean’s, lips slowly curving into a smile. He gingerly shifted his hand away from Dean’s pounding heart, sliding it across his smooth muscled chest. He cupped Dean’s side as he slowly leaned in. His eyes fluttered closed as he pressed his mouth to the place where his hand had been, kissing Dean’s chest tenderly. 

Pulling his head marginally back, he focused on Dean’s nipple and remembered what the man had done to him. He slowly leaned in again, closing his mouth over Dean’s nipple, sucking it softly and swirling his tongue around the hardened bud. Pulling his head back, he blew across it then shifted his attention to the other side, the scarred side of Dean’s body. 

He paused, unsure if this would anger Dean. Pressing his lips into a determined line, he leaned in again, and closed his mouth around the slightly scarred nipple. He sucked at it and right away noted the difference in the texture of the skin, the thicker tissues. He didn’t allow himself to recoil though and simply kept going until the nipple tightened into a hard bud.

Rocking back a little, he lifted his gaze to Dean’s face, a tentative smile causing the corners of his lips to twitch. “Did...did I do good?” he inquired nervously. 

Dean had been about to tell Sam he didn’t have to force himself to touch his scarred side, but his throat closed up. Though he tensed, he couldn’t help feeling like Sam’s touches were a salve, healing a part of him that was invisible, and yet even more scarred than his body.

Blinking, Dean looked down at his nipples, both of them still tight and one of them wet with Sam’s saliva. “You should be able to tell, but in case it’s not clear,” he locked gazes with Sam. “Better than I could imagine. My heart’s pounding. My breaths... I can’t control them. The blood’s rushing in my ears, I can hardly hear myself talking. My mind is going to places... some dark, you wouldn’t approve,” he admitted. “And some light. You might let me get away with those,” he said, a smile tugging his own lips. Reaching out, he gripped Sam’s shoulder and drew him close.

Gasping softly when Dean drew him in close, his head bowing to look down at the way their bodies touched. Slowly he lifted his face, meeting Dean’s gaze. Swallowing hard, some part of Sam, the same part that use to have him climbing into the windows of the old Hankers’ farm house, the one that everyone said was haunted, forced his lips to move. “What _kind_ of dark places?” he breathed. 

“Dark, sexy places. The kind you’re not ready for,” Dean smirked, seeing both curiosity and slight fear in Sam’s eyes. “Are you afraid of me? Or of what you might want?” he asked.

Sam’s face flushed and his gaze lowered as his lips curved into a sheepish smile. “Terrified. But...not in a bad way really. Kind’a like how I felt when I first kissed a girl,” he murmured, tongue darting out, licking across his lips. He paused there a moment, hands fidgeting at his sides. “I’m confused,” he admitted. “I’m curious...and y’know, I’ve never.... But I know that I shouldn’t... and I jus’...” he muttered and paused, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes searched Dean’s features. 

Dean cocked his head and smiled at Sam’s admission. 

Sam’s lip slipped from, unrolling from between his teeth with an almost flourish, the tender flesh pink and wet with spit, appearing almost as though the plump flesh had been carefully painted in gloss. “You’re really handsome when you smile,” he breathed softly. 

“Yeah?” Trying to believe him, Dean smiled a little wider and leaned in, stealing a kiss. He pulled back only slightly. “I guess I’ll have to smile more often for you.” With anyone else in his bed, Dean knew they’d have been fucking like bunnies already. But with Sam, he had to move slowly. He wasn’t really sure anymore that he minded that much.

“So?” His gaze traveled heatedly down Sam’s chest, to his briefs, and back up. “You wanna start something?” Dropping his hand in Sam’s lap, he slowly pushed his hand over Sam’s groin. “You’re really handsome when you blush for me.”

Sam’s features turned crimson though a soft chuckle actually bubbled from between his lips before he lifted his head and his eyes once more. His tongue darted out again, nervously licking across his lips. “Will...will you show me?” he asked before he could take the words back.


	11. Chapter 11

“I’ll show you,” Dean said, giving a solemn nod. “Do you want a Magdalena? You won’t worry as much,” he offered, lightly massaging Sam’s cock and drawing in a sharp breath when he felt it start to harden. 

Sam’s eyes squeezed closed and a soft moan like whimper broke from his throat at the feel of Dean’s hand teasing his dick through the silky fabric of his briefs. He pried his eyes open and shook his head. No, he didn’t want some drink that would half drug him, he wanted to be totally aware of this, wanted to be able to remember it in the morning. 

“Okay, no Magdalena. Just you. And... Me,” Dean answered, kissing Sam repeatedly, never thrusting his tongue inside Sam’s mouth, but teasing him, licking along the seam of his lips, or sucking on his lower lip. He never stopped touching Sam, one hand squeezing his cock, the other moving up and down his back, keeping him in the circle of his arm and close. “So sweet, you taste so fucking sweet,” he rasped, voicing his thoughts. 

“Heh,” the soft breathless almost chuckle broke from Sam’s throat. His lips parted beneath Dean’s and now, he became the aggressor. His pushed his tongue into Dean’s mouth, sliding alongside Dean’s. 

He wrapped an arm around Dean, palm flat and fingers splayed wide against his back while his other hand moved over the side of Dean’s face, fingertips gently touching, caressing along the line of Dean’s throat, his jaw line, up to where their lips were joined, feeling the way they moved together. 

Suddenly ‘sweet’ wasn’t quite the word for this, though Dean, even if Sam might not be aware of how his innocent touches were affecting the prince. Heat flooded his system. His mouth burned, aching for more. His muscles tensed, his skin felt tight and sensitive to Sam’s touches.

Tangling his tongue with Sam’s, Dean cupped the side of Sam’s face and slid his tongue past Sam’s, into his mouth. So hot. So sweet. So spicy. And all Dean wanted was more. A warning bell in the back of his mind kept telling him to go slow. It was the only thing stopping him from ripping Sam’s shorts off. 

Dragging his mouth off Sam’s, Dean looked intently into his eyes. “Touch me. Like I’m touching you, touch me,” he said, squeezing Sam’s cock very deliberately over his shorts. 

Sam’s breath hitched and then left him in a rush, his hips bucking toward Dean’s palm. He lowered his gaze to the sheets, slung so low on Dean’s hips that he could see the start of pubic hair. He licked his lips nervously and lifted his gaze back to Dean’s, wanting to see the reactions on his face as he tentatively slipped his hand down and across the bed, cupping Dean’s dick in his hand and gently squeezing. 

Dean’s head jerked back and he almost came off the bed. He’d half expected Sam to deny him. Or touch him over the sheets. But Gods, the feel of his large, warm hand closing over his hard flesh was not something Dean would quickly forget. 

His upper teeth cut into his lower lip as he locked gazes with Sam, holding his breath. Then Sam moved his hand, stroking him the same way Dean was stroking Sam’s cock. To the same exact rhythm and it had Dean, who’d experienced every type of sex imaginable, groaning and struggling for air. Somehow, this youth could bring him to his knees. The knowledge scared and excited Dean. 

Sam dipped his head in shyness, though the movement also allowed him to repeat something Dean told him he’d gotten right before. Leaning in, he wrapped his lips around one of Dean’s nipples, sucking it and swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub, feeling it pebble against his tongue. He squeezed Dean again before he boldly started to move his warm fist faster up and down Dean’s cock, in the same way he’d guiltily done to himself in the past, in the dark and under the covers, when he’d been unable to deny the needs of his body. 

Dean saw flashes of white behind his eyelids. He didn’t hide his reactions, or clamp down on the harsh breath that left him. “So good, Sam. So fucking good,” he breathed, slipping his hand through the opening of Sam’s briefs at his thigh and touching him now, skin to skin. Squeezing him, he stroked his hand up his shaft and ran his thumb around Sam’s crown, feeling his head swell right there in his hand. 

Heat and pleasure, not just at the touches and caresses, but at the knowledge that he was pleasing Dean, that he wasn’t being a total screw up at this, raced through his veins to pool low in his gut and cause his dick to pulse and twitch. He sucked in an audible breath, causing him to release Dean’s nipple, his head snapping up anyway, wide eyes locking on Dean’s when the calloused pad of the man’s thumb teased at the head of his cock. 

Sam’s mind raced, trying to think of something that he could do to reciprocate for the pleasure that had danced along his nerve endings with every motion of Dean’s hand. He thought back to what Sarah had done to him in her apartment and his throat convulsed as he swallowed hard. 

“Wait - wait a second,” Sam murmured softly, lowering one hand to Dean’s and slowly prying it from beneath his briefs. His lips curved into an encouraging smile, not wanting Dean to think that he was ending this, that he had chickened out. “Just trust me,” he whispered. 

He scooted away a little, and grabbed the waistband of his own briefs. Managing to pull them down and off, without flashing Dean in the process, he flung the shorts onto the floor.

Then Sam placed his palm on Dean’s chest. “Lay back,” he instructed with a nod of his head toward the pillows. 

Dean’s eyes had not wavered from Sam, watching with building frustration as Sam shimmied out of his shorts under the sheets. Seeing the shorts get discarded, he licked his lips and dropped his eyes to the outline of Sam’s cock under the sheets. “I... I don’t want to stop touching you. Not just yet,” Dean said, needing to be clear. 

When all he got back was silence, Dean slowly obeyed. “You know, I’m usually the one who plays _master,_ ” he muttered as he gave in to Sam’s request. 

Sam’s lips curved into a wide smile, his features flushing. “You said I was Master Sam,” he reasoned. “Just trust me.”

After he tugged the sheets, pulling it up far enough that he was sure it would keep both of them covered, he rolled on top of Dean, sitting astride his upper thighs. His gaze fell to Dean’s cock, jutting up under the thin silky material, right next to his own still hard dick. He wrapped on hand around Dean’s hard flesh, and pulled the sheets again, covering their privates. The soft linen pooled around his ass as he sat atop Dean. 

Sam’s brows lifted, a silent inquiry as to whether this pleased Dean. 

Raising his knees just a little so Sam slid forward, Dean’s gaze dropped to their cocks jutting under the sheet. The slide of Sam’s hand up and down his shaft had him involuntarily thrusting his hips. 

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” Dean demanded, reaching under the sheets and closing his fist around Sam’s cock. “Do you?” he asked again, pushing Sam’s cock up against his and hissing out a breath. “You make me want you so bad, it hurts. Can you feel it? How much I need you?” he asked, lifting his hips again.

Sam’s lips parted, a slight look of fear in his eyes at Dean’s first question, afraid that he had done something wrong. He had only thought back to when he’d sat on Dean’s lap and then later when Sarah had sat on his, how good it had felt and how much it had excited him despite not wanting it to. When Dean’s hips lifted and sank, pushing his dick into Dean’s fisted hand and then pulling it back again, his mouth snapped closed with understanding, a rosy red blush immediately staining his cheeks. 

Sam’s hips involuntarily bucked up, pushing his dick up Dean’s fisted hand around him. A low soft groan tumbled from between his lips and his eyes fluttered closed momentarily before opening once more. A soft whimper broke from his throat, and then there was nothing he could do but repeat the motion, over and over. His gaze lowered, head bowing slightly as he watched the movement of their hands, lifting the sheets, jerking under them, somehow making it impossible for him to look away.

Sam’s tongue darted out, licking across his lips. Somehow, he managed to lean forward, his mouth latching over one of Dean’s nipples. His teeth gently scraped against Dean’s nipple as a moan broke from him, his hand quickening on Dean, the way he wished Dean would stroke him faster. Thinking experimentation would help take his mind off his needs, he moved his hand up Dean’s cock, squeezed him, and then ran the pad of his thumb over his tip, the way Dean had done to him. 

“Sam...” Dean’s voice was uncharacteristically breathless as a bolt of heat slammed into him. Clapping one hand on the back of Sam’s head, keeping him close, arching against the wet heat of his mouth, Dean closed his eyes. He started to stroke Sam’s cock more firmly, up and down, varying his motions so Sam couldn’t anticipate them. Sometimes when he reached the base of Sam’s cock, he pressed the pad of his thumb in against the sensitive area right above and right behind his balls. “Feel good? Make you think what it would be like if I held your balls?” he asked, “Oh Gods, your teeth. Scrape them against me again,” he begged on the verge of a moan.

Sam’s eyes opened and he lifted his head slightly, though he didn’t release the nipple he was sucking. His hips rolled and a soft, needy whimper left him Dean teased his cock and perineum. 

His breaths coming out harshly, his nostrils flaring, Sam moved to Dean’s other nipple and dragged his teeth over it like Dean asked him to. The corners of his lips quirked upward into a proud smirk as he felt Dean’s answering shudder. 

When he’d played enough with Dean’s nipple, Sam lifted his head, his eyes were heavy lidded and glazed with lust. He lowered over Dean again, slanting his mouth over Dean’s, kissing him hungrily, forcefully, using all the knowledge that he had gained thus far from Dean. He slipped his tongue alongside Dean’s, battling it, tangling with it and stabbing his tongue into his mouth, over and over again. 

Groaning, Dean kissed Sam back, pulling him close, winding his fingers through his hair. So many sensations vibrated through him, he could barely think. It took all his concentration to keep pleasuring Sam as Sam plundered his mouth with a wildness Dean never expected. 

Their hot breaths mingled. Soft sounds escaped one, then the other. They touched, and stroked and kissed and moved against each other.

Dean wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he was aware of the pressure building low in his belly. He started to lift his hips in rhythm to their kisses, pushing himself toward the edge, but stroking Sam much much slower, at times only loosely holding his dick in his hand. He remembered too well how easy it was to make Sam come, and this time, this time he wanted them to come at the same time. 

Soft moans broke from Sam’s throat and his hips writhed, his body nearly squirming atop of Dean’s. He tore his mouth away, warm panted breaths puffing out from between his parted lips. His opened his eyes to mere passion glazed slits, his pupils lust blown. His lips curved into a grin, drunken on their kisses and his tongue darted out, licking the taste of Dean’s lips from his own. 

“I - I tried to do what you did...Did you like it? I don’t know how to do anything else,” he murmured, an almost sad apology with the last of his words as his gaze lowered. 

Then the image of Dean, in his cloaked and hooded form, and the things he’d done to Sam in the dungeons sprang into Sam’s mind with vivid clarity. His eyes widened and he gasped in a breath as his head snapped up, lips pulled into a wide grin. 

He’d never done or even imagined such a thing before, but it made sense that if Dean had done it to him, he must like it. With the same fly by the seat of his pants attitude that had taken him and Tommy Alan to the Whitener's barn to watch Betty pull her pantaloons down, he dove head first into this new idea. 

Abruptly releasing Dean’s cock, he sat back and eased Dean’s hand from his own dick. “Trust me,” he insisted as his gaze lifted to Dean’s when the Prince seemed rather reluctant, which was putting it mildly. 

Once he was free, Sam shimmied down Dean’s body, mindless of the fact that the sheet was slipping down their bodies with his movements. He stopped once his face was level with Dean’s groin and his gaze lowered to the man’s straining cock, the tip a deep red and pearled with precome. He swallowed hard and the brief worry that he would hate the taste and do something stupid like gag or recoil ran through his mind. He dismissed the thoughts, determined to do this right. 

Dean’s heart was about to stop. This... this inexperienced human from a backwoods planet was about to make his heart stop dead in his chest if he kept staring at his cock in indecision. Now the thought of Sam’s mouth sucking on his cock were planted in his head, Dean wasn’t sure how he’d deal with it if the boy changed his mind. _Do it_ , he mentally urged Sam, his breaths coming out faster and harsher as he pleaded with his eyes.

Sam glanced up at Dean with a grin briefly before lowering his attention once more, squeezing his eyes tightly closed as he lowered his head and opened his mouth as wide as he could, taking Dean’s cock inside. 

As his cock was sheathed by the wet heat of Sam’s mouth, Dean squirmed and moaned out his pleasure. “You make me feel like some kid... some teenager getting sucked off for the first time,” he rasped, fingers clenching once again in Sam’s thick soft hair. “Oh Gods... don’t stop, please don’t...” he begged. 

Sam’s brow creased as the tang of precome hit his taste buds. It wasn’t an entirely bad flavor, only different. With his nose buried in the soft crinkly curls at the base of Dean’s dick, the musk of his arousal had Sam’s own cock twitching and hardening to the point that it ached and throbbed. One of his hands shot down to wrap around the base of his dick, pinching it in an attempt to stave off any possibility of an impending orgasm. 

Slowly releasing his hold on himself, he reached up and grasped Dean’s hip while moving his mouth in the same way that Dean had, up and down along his length. He gagged a couple times when he got overzealous and took too much into his mouth, but he found a rhythm. He had a hard time, when Dean started to speak, his eyes opening as he tried to look up yet not totally able to focus well on the man’s face. Some of it was just sounds of pleasure anyway, so he gave up, and closed his eyes again. As Dean started to jerk up, Sam put his forearm across Dean’s abs and hips, pinning him down against the mattress. 

Remembering what Dean had said about his balls, and the scandalous lust he’d felt in response to the image it painted in his head, Sam moved his hand lower. Cupping Dean’s balls in his hand, he gently squeezing and tugging at them while he continued to move his mouth along Dean’s length. 

Heat arced through Dean like a bolt of lightning, strong and hard. He jerked up so hard, he lifted Sam up with him. “Where in hell did you learn that?” he demanded, raising himself up on one elbow and watching his cock disappear again into Sam’s mouth. “No, don’t answer,” he practically barked when it looked like Sam was going to take his mouth off him. “Just... just keep it up... keep doing it,” he groaned.

Grabbing the hand Sam had on his hip, Dean lifted it to his mouth and kissed his palm, nipping his flesh between his teeth. Then he thrust his tongue between Sam’s fingers, slipping it in and out, practically making love to his hand, trying to hang onto his control, to prevent himself from slipping over the edge. 

Sam whimpered. The things Dean’s tongue was doing to the sensitive areas between his fingers causing him to breaking the rhythm of his mouth’s movements along Dean’s length. His own cock pulsed and twitched where it was pressed against the mattress and he bucked his hips, rutting against the mattress while continuing to suck at Dean’s cock and squeezing his balls with his free hand. 

Sam’s fingers curled, pulling away from Dean’s mouth and he tugged at in an attempt to free Dean’s hold when he felt heat pool tight and low in his groin. He whimpered, afraid that he would come without the ability to pinch it off. 

At first, Dean reeled at the sudden loss of pressure. But then, seeing the panicked look in Sam’s eyes and feeling the mattress dip, he understood. 

Half sitting, he closed his arms around Sam and tugged him up, giving an “oomph,” when Sam fell, sprawling on him. He didn’t give Sam the chance to think, instead curling one leg around Sam’s and using his other to lift up, to rub his groin against Sam’s wet heat. “Fuck... that’s good...” 

Dean lifted up a few more times, rubbing harder against Sam, but still not getting exactly what he needed. “Kiss me,” he demanded, and when Sam brought his mouth over his, Dean rolled them over suddenly. The pain in his leg had him flinching for a fraction of second, but then he was focused on Sam, only Sam. 

Sam’s breath caught in his throat and his heart pounded fearfully in his chest. What had he done that he might not be able to come back from? He hadn’t intended that this go this far, that Dean.... Fear that Dean was going to do more than they had, that he was going to _take him_ evident in his gaze when his eyes popped open despite the fact that their lips were still joined. 

Shifting, Dean started to thrust his hips, making sure his cock rubbed against Sam’s with each movement of his thighs. He took over control of the kiss just as easily, weaving his tongue in and out of Sam’s mouth, lifting it only to whisper his pleasure, or to tell Sam how good it was, how good Sam was at this.

Sam squeezed his eyes closed once more and concentrated on returning Dean’s kisses while his hips bucked of their own accord, without his knowledge or his direction. A low groan broke from his throat and his hands gripped Dean’s shoulders, short blunt nails digging into the tender flesh and likely leaving crescent moons behind. His breaths panted heavily and his cock throbbed, getting relief in brief pulses as their bodies pressed against each other. As he felt his balls draw up painfully tight to his body, he tore his lips from Dean’s, head turning to the side slightly before rolling back to gaze fearfully up at Dean. “Dean, I can’t...” he breathed as his eyes widened before squeezing tightly closed the moment his hips bucked up hard against Dean and the first rope of cum shot from his cock. 

“Then don’t. Just give it to me... gimme everything,” Dean demanded, fucking against Sam harder, groaning as his cock and thighs grew wet and slick with Sam’s cum. Closing his mouth over Sam’s, he pushed his tongue inside and single-mindedly pistoned his hips until his balls tightened against his body and he was so close... so damned close... just the feel of Sam’s cock trapped against his stomach pushed him over. Blinding heat had him shouting Sam’s name so loud it must have startled the guards outside because the door opened and then quickly shut. 

“Yes, Gods... yes, you’re the one, you have to be the one,” Dean whispered over and over, pushing his hand under Sam’s ass and lifting him up as he bucked against him. 

Sam pushed back against each of Dean’s thrusts as best as he could then gasped softly as his eyes widened and he felt the wet spill of Dean’s release against his skin. He lifted his head from the pillow and buried his face against the side of Dean’s neck as the man rode out his orgasm. 

His lips curved into a soft groggy smile and he pressed a tender, chaste kiss against the damp flesh of Dean’s neck. He wasn’t exactly sure what Dean was talking about, what he meant by those words exactly, but if it was anything akin to what he was feeling, it warmed his heart. “I think you’re the one too,” he whispered. 

With all the emotions roiling through him, and with the sound of his heart beats so loud in his ears, it was a wonder Dean heard Sam’s whisper. His heart did a flip flop in his chest, and he sternly told himself not to believe, not to jinx it. But for the first time, in a long time, the Prince of Castica had real hope in his heart, a flesh and blood lover in his arms, and a deep desire to please someone, to do whatever it took to make them happy. 

Kissing Sam one more time, Dean rolled off him and flopped down on his back, his chest still heaving. “Thank you, _master_ Sam. I like your courting style,” he grinned and turned his head toward Sam.

“There’s that jug head thing again,” Sam grumbled before allowing his head to fall onto the Prince’s shoulder. “Shhh, don’t ruin it,” he added, eyes closed as he nuzzled against Dean’s neck. His scarred side. 

“You’re a puzzle.” Dean said, not really speaking to Sam. “You realize we’ll be stuck together in the morning if we don’t...” 

Sam’s even breaths and silence told him Sam had already fallen asleep. Laughing, he pulled Sam just a little closer. 

* * * 

Sam squeezed his eyes closed tighter against the blinding glare of sunlight that came through the windows of the Prince’s bedchamber. The light was so strong and brilliant, he wouldn’t be surprised to find out that this godforsaken planet had a couple of suns, despite the curse that froze the land. 

He tried to bury his face against Dean’s neck in an attempt to hide from it, but apparently Dean’s head was facing the other direction and there was no place to hide from the light and find sleep within his lover’s arms. Lover... That idea had Sam grinning and a soft rosy blush staining his cheeks. 

Lifting his head and blinking the sleep from his eyes, he gazed down into Dean’s sleeping face. The sight of the gruff man, looking innocent and vulnerable in sleep had Sam’s smile widening, to the point that deep dimples marked his cheeks. He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to Dean’s cheek, then lifted his head and pushed up on his hands, intending to roll off his lover and get a shower to wash away the remains of what they’d done last night. 

His brow furrowed and he sucked in a soft breath of pain when he found himself rather stuck to Dean. It wasn’t as though it were like the spackle or mortar one used to lay bricks, but it had him stuck where he was just the same, unless he wanted to painfully jerk himself free at least.

“Um, Dean?” he murmured, not wanting to startle the man awake. 

He dipped his head when he got no response and kissed a low path to Dean’s ear, “Lover,” he whispered, grinning at the use of the word. “Dean,” he said again, this time a tad louder. 

When he again got no response, his brow furrowed with irritation thinking that the man was simply ignoring him. “Dean!” he barked, determined to either wake him up, or if Dean was toying with him, get him to answer. 

Dean pressed his lips tighter together, trying not to laugh. He opened an eye, saw Sam leaning over and staring at him, and closed it again. “Shush, it’s not how you wake a royal, dont’cha know.” He moved around a little, trying to establish just how stuck Sam’s stomach was to his backside, then he lost it and started laughing. “I did _try_ to warn you. But I guess I’m that irresistible...”

Sam’s eyes tightened into irritated slits. “Not how I wake up a royal pain in the butt, you mean,” he corrected. “And you did not try to tell me anything. I remember last night perfectly well and there was no warning, no mention that your...your... _stuff_ was going to turn into mortar and bind me to you.” His lips pulled into a frown at Dean’s laughter. “Stop laughing, this isn’t funny.” 

“Oh, come now, you mean you didn’t know royal cum doubles as glue?” Dean laughed a little harder. “I did, I swear I did warn you. Wanted to know if you wanted the servants to come in and wash it off but you just curled up and... glued yourself to me.” He wiggled again, a satisfied smirk pulling on his lips.

“Complete jug head,” Sam spat with annoyance. He sighed heavily, “So now what do we do?” he inquired as he eyed Dean suspiciously. “And don’t say that you need to...to...do _that_ again for your royal... _stuff_ to unstick,” he warned, “Cause I ain’t buyin’ it.” 

“Crowley!” Dean yelled at the top of his lungs.

As soon as Crowley entered the room and came to a stop near the bed, Dean spoke again. “Get a crowbar, pry us apart.” His shoulders started to shake again.

“Showing off, are we?” Crowley practically beamed.

Sam’s eyes widened when Dean called out for Crowley, then he groaned and curled over Dean, burying his face against Dean’s chest. Feeling it shake with laughter, Sam moved his mouth to one of Dean’s nipples and bit down hard enough to cause Dean to jump and yelp. 

Lifting his head, he revealed an unamused but devious smile. “Serves you right, you...you... _jug head_ ,” he huffed. 

“That’s just... vicious,” Dean complained, rubbing his nipple. “Do it again, _Master_.”

“So that’s how it is between the two of you, and here I thought the doctor was exaggerating,” Crowley clucked as he walked out of the room into the small hallway to the bath chamber. “I’ll just be getting the...”

“Warm elixir to unglue us,” Dean supplied. “Although... I don’t know, I just might enjoy this. What do you think, Sammy?” He managed to kiss Sam, laughing at the way Sam pulled his face away. 

“I think you’re being a real jug head,” Sam bit out, glaring angrily at Dean. 

He sighed with relief at the notion that at least Crowley was taking this more seriously than Dean appeared to be. He watched as Crowley brought over a warm rag and began to wipe the dried, crusted evidence of what they had done away. 

The closer Crowley got to rubbing the warm cloth over Sam’s groin the more uncomfortable and freaked out Sam got. Once he was free, he nearly jumped from the bed and ran across the room and into the bath chamber. 

Dean’s laughter could be heard for many rooms beyond his bed chamber. “That was... he was... he is...” When he sat up, tears were streaming down his face. “What are you doing here, Crowley. Get out.”

“Yes Highness.” The man scurried to the door and turned. “It does my heart a world of good, seeing you laugh.”

“Out.” There was no rancor in Dean’s tone. He was smiling as he got out of bed to follow Sam to the bath chamber, whistling a merry tune.

*

Dean pushed the door open and waltzed into the large bath chamber. Sam was out of sight, in the privy. “Bath or shower?” he asked out loud. “You know we won’t stick together in the water. Unless you enjoy being stuck...”

Sam was busy standing in front of the strange looking marble surfaced hole meant for pissing. The thing was not at all like what he was used to; it looked like a piece of art, for God’s sake! 

His hand was wrapped around his dick as he emptied his bladder, his head lolling back and a heavy sigh breaking from between his softly parted lips with relief. Hearing someone enter, he had a heart stopping moment where he worried someone would come into the privy. 

“”Shower,” Sam replied as he shook his dick before reaching up, the way Crowley had taught him, flushing what Crowley had called a ‘ _commode_ ’. He backed away from it and walked over to the doorway, peering out at Dean, his brow once again softly creased. “I’ve never heard you whistle before,” he commented with a slight tilt of his head. 

“Really? Huh.” Seeing Sam standing there, hiding behind the door, Dean grinned. “You know... really nothing I haven’t seen. Come out here, I’m not gonna bite. At least not too hard,” he winked. 

Sam glanced back in indecision. The man had a point, it wasn’t as though there was any part of him that Dean hadn’t seen. Still, it was unnerving the way these people just walked around in their birthday suits like it was the most normal thing there was. 

Nodding, he stepped out from behind the divider, though one hand did try to stray down to cup himself before he forced himself not to as he crossed the distance between them. “Next time, we’re bringin’ a basin of water in with us,” he remarked with a sage nod. 

“Hmm?” Dean was clearly distracted, his gaze traveling down every inch of Sam. What the hell, why not do something else he hadn’t since his teenage years? He gave a low, appreciative wolf whistle. 

Sam’s lips curved into an immediate smile as his face darkened to the color of an eggplant with embarrassment. This time, he _did_ reach down and cup himself. 

Giving him a look, Dean walked up to Sam and put his hand out, clearly expecting Sam to release his dick and take his hand. “It’s customary for courting couples to kiss in the morning.” Oh, he was going to have to find a long list of things courting couples did, even if he had to make up half of it. 

Sam looked from Dean’s face to his hand, back and back again as he tried to figure out how he was going to take Dean’s hand and walk anywhere while covering himself. His brow knitted with determination as he lifted his free hand to Dean’s, grasping it firmly and half waddled the remaining distance until he stood toe to toe with Dean. 

“Okay,” he breathed, “Kiss me.”

Before Dean could move, Sam leaned in and slanted his own mouth over Dean’s, a soft moan leaving him as his tongue slipped past Dean’s lips and into his mouth. 

A smile curved Dean’s lips as they kissed. He lifted a hand and placed it behind Sam’s head, holding him in place though he let Sam have control over the kiss. The fact that it wasn’t just a quick peck to get it over with sent his heart soaring, and Sam’s moan was enough to make his gut tighten with need.

When they broke the kiss, he brushed his lips against Sam’s. “That was nice. More than nice.” Running his hand down from Sam’s shoulder to grab his other hand, he started walking backwards to the shower, his eyes never leaving Sam’s face.

Sam’s lips curved into a smirk as he allowed Dean to pull his hand away from cupping himself and followed along after him as Dean led him toward the shower. “We really need to get the people in this place some _real_ clothes,” he mumbled with amusement. 

“And cover up all this art work?” Linking their fingers together, Dean ran their joined hands over Sam’s chest. “Some of the rest of us, maybe. I’ll give you that. But you’re too perfect to be covered from sight.” Dean’s clothes were usually very tailored to his body, but if he showed skin, it was always on the side of his body that was not disfigured. “Water. Warm then rise to slightly hot,” he commanded when they were under the showers.

Sam glanced down at himself and back up at Dean as he shook his head, “It’s unseemly for me to go around wearing half that stuff in my closet. And you shouldn’t wear...” he let his sentence trail off afraid that Dean would hereby decree that they’d both walk around naked. “Never mind...” he mumbled as his gaze darted away. 

“The word you’re looking for is not ‘unseemly,’ it’s ‘sexy.’ And you are... sexy, so stop trying to cover it up under layers and layers of clothes.” He pushed Sam up against the marble wall and pinned his wrists to the wall on either side of his body as he looked him over. “Wet and nude... that’s a good look. Very good look. I need to talk to Crowley about it...”

Sam’s face flushed with embarrassment at Dean continuing to compliment him. He wasn’t used to that kind of attention, from anyone. When Dean pinned him against the wall, his heart started to pound in his chest, fear running briefly through his veins before he forced himself to relax; however what Dean said next had his blood running cold as he swallowed hard. 

“Wha-what do you mean _by that_?” he inquired nervously. 

“Nothing for you to worry about.” Dean frowned at the waves of anxiety Sam was giving off. “You’re not back to being scared of me?” he asked, releasing Sam’s wrists. “I was just gonna... just gonna court you some more.” His gaze lingered on Sam’s mouth, but he gave him some space.

“No,” Sam argued. “I just... what does Crowley have to do with you courtin’ me?” he inquired, taking a step closer to Dean. He reached for him, laying a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t - don’t be mad, I just... I just don’t want to...to re-live what happened before...being in the dungeon, around all those people.”

“I’m going to talk to him about your clo--. What... what the hell happened in the dungeon that’s so bad?” Dean demanded. “I took damned good care of you. Did I kiss you too much? Not enough? Did I make you come too fast? That wasn’t my fault... I’ll talk to Crowley about that too. What?” he asked, irritated now by the extreme anxiety he still saw in Sam’s eyes.

Sam shook his head, his eyes wide as Dean ranted, his voice rising. He opened his mouth to explain what had bothered him, tried hard to think of a way to explain that Dean and his people just didn’t think the way he did. But before he said a word, Dean’s personal insult about his having come so quickly had his eyes stinging with unshed tears. His heart felt as though it had been crushed in his chest and when Dean added insult to injury by saying that he was going to tell Crowley, his one and only friend about it, it was all he could take. 

“How can you say those things to me!” he cried. He started to slowly back away from Dean. “I don’t...I don’t know how I could have possibly thought that I was falling in love with you...” he whispered brokenly. “You’re right, you are a monster!” he spat before turning and getting out of the shower, grabbing a towel and disappearing from the Prince’s sight as fast as he could. 

* * *

Clad in black, Dean sat behind his desk, looking grim. “What do you mean he’s not going to have breakfast with me?”

“It’s not you, Highness, I’m sure... he’s not hungry and...”

“Oh, stop your tap dancing,” Dean ordered. “I want him at my dining table at dinner tonight, even if you have to tie him down. After that, it’s breakfast and dinner, at my table. No compromising, you got it?”

Crowley gave a nod.

“He’s impossible.” Pushing away from the table, Dean started to pace. “He blows hot and cold.”

“I think he says the same about you.”

Stopping, Dean glared Crowley into silence. “Last night. It was almost... magical. I should put him under a damned spell.”

“You know that won’t work...”

“... He acted like he liked me. Like... like he liked what we were doing. Then this morning, suddenly, there’s something wrong or dirty about sex... sex with me,” he clarified. “I mention getting you to help out with clothes and he suddenly looks terrified. As if I’d hit him or...” Dean worked his jaw, grinding it so hard it hurt. “He’s sweet one moment, and then in the next, he’s sucking on a lemon.” Seeing the look in Crowley’s eyes, he snapped, “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Snickering under his breath, Crowley looked at Dean. “He’s inexperienced. He’s from a place where sex is bad, or at least something people feel guilty about enjoying. He’s probably having trouble dealing with the things you make him feel.”

“And what about me? You think I don’t have trouble with the things he makes me feel?” Dean demanded. “He’s killing me, Crowley, with his hot, cold, come here, get away from me, tiger and scared bunny act. Tell him to get over it.”

“Sire?”

“You heard me, tell him to get over it.”

There was silence.

“What are you waiting for? The next century to roll by?”

Crowley bowed and walked out, closing the doors to the library.

Dean looked down at the paper he’d written one word on. _Monster._


	12. Chapter 12

Sam sat on the side of his bed wearing the sweat suit that Crowley had found for him, as well as a pair of ‘running shoes” which was ironically fitting. He was still sniffling from the cry he’d had, his eyes bloodshot and still watery. Wiping his nose with a tissue, he tried to form a plan, a plan to run away. He wanted to go home, but he knew that was impossible without Dean’s help and he didn’t want to ask him for anything, ever. 

The knock on his bedroom door had him looking up, but he didn’t answer. When the door started to open, he sucked in a breath of alarm, eyes going wide until he saw it was only Crowley. 

“Right, I brought you some breakfast,” Crowley said, motioning for the table to be rolled in and then for the servants to leave. When they were gone, he approached Sam and put his hand on his shoulder. “Come on, have a bite and maybe you’ll feel better about this lover’s spat you’ve had. It’s probably the first of many.”

Sam shook his head, “It’s not a lover’s spat, Crowley. He wanted to tell you.... _things_ about me. Intimate things that should only be between the two people involved in a relationship. He...he doesn’t care about anyone but himself and he...” he shook his head and wiped his nose again and gave a harsh laugh. “I was actually stupid enough to think that I might be falling in love with him,” he confessed. “I see now that Dean can’t love anyone but himself. He expects me to be alright with his shortcomings and yet he wants to blabber mine to the whole castle. No. I’m leaving. As soon as I can, I’m out of here.” 

Crowley frowned. “He’s not perfect, I’ll give you that. Alright, he can be an arsehole. But that doesn’t sound like him. A misunderstanding, it’s got to be one. You both seem to have trouble communicating. Tell me what happened and maybe I can untangle this mess, and there’ll be no more talk of leaving. There’s nowhere to go,” he emphasized. 

“After...” Sam started and paused as he blushed a deep shade of scarlet. “After last night, I thought...I thought things were...different. I thought he felt what I did, but then... we were getting washed up and he started talking about me naked and wet and then he mentioned telling you stuff. And then I told him I didn’t want to re-live what I’d endured in the dungeon. That was...” he shook his head, “Horrific,” he sniffled again. “And then he started yelling at me and he threw in my face that I... that I...” again Sam’s face turned red as a beet and he lowered his gaze to the floor. “It went downhill from there,” he whispered. 

Crowley’s words about not leaving, about there being no place to go didn’t deter Sam from planning his escape. He would be gone just as soon as he possibly could. He would sneak out when the guards were changing, near dinner time. He would wear his hooded cloak and no one would notice him. He just had to make it through the day. The smell of bacon and eggs made his stomach rumble, reminding him he should eat so he wasn’t leaving on an empty stomach. 

“You two need to talk this over. You’re having dinner with him tonight,” Crowley firmly said. “You tell him what you meant by how ‘horrific’ you thought the dungeon was, and he can tell you why he’s so angry and … you do know he mentions me _all_ the bloody time. Half the time, he doesn’t go through with whatever it is he’s ranting about.” He put an arm around Sam and forced him up, off the bed. “Let’s get some food into you. Then we can arrange a few things for you to do. Swimming? Sports? Anything you like. Things will look better by evening,” he promised.

Sam listened to Crowley, scoffing at the idea of trying to explain _anything_ to Dean. “He doesn’t listen. He only yells, he’s a jug headed jerk... _butt face_ , that needs a good whippin’,” he spat. “And don’t tell him I said that, he’ll just make fun of my accent,” he added off-handedly. But Crowley’s remark about all the times Dean said his name without going through on his threats did have Sam chuckling a little. 

“Yeah, things will be better by evening,” he murmured, offering Crowley a slight smile. “Thank you, for...everything. You’re my best friend here,” he said, wrapping his arms around Crowley and giving him a hug. Releasing him, Sam nodded again and followed Crowley over to the dining cart. 

Smiling, Crowley got Sam settled down in a chair and served his breakfast. “Let’s not get his _jug-head-ness_ jealous, shall we? I’ve never seen him jealous before. Ever,” he said, hoping the point would make Sam feel better. His Highness thought he was going nuts with Sam blowing hot and cold. Neither of these _jug-heads_ knew that the entire realm was getting whiplash, going from having high hopes that the curse would be broken, to despair that things were going south between the pair. How he wished he could bonk their heads together...

“Sugar?” Crowley asked, ever so sweetly, as he stirred some into Sam’s tea and contemplated locking him and Dean up together somewhere and throwing away the bloody key.

* * * 

After breakfast, Sam allowed Crowley to drop him off at a ball game, and introduce him to those who were playing. He had watched for a bit and then joined in for a few hours. 

In the late afternoon, he told the others that he was going to go lay down for a while before dinner. Once he was in his chambers, he packed jeans and some shirts that actually buttoned up, into a makeshift bag he’d forged by tying the ends of a large scarf onto a small pole. 

When it was close to dinner time, he ducked out of his room, wearing a cloak and hood to conceal his face. He crept through the castle, hiding anytime he heard a voice. At one point, he heard Crowley’s and Dean’s voices and nearly had a heart attack. Flattening his back against a wall, he let out a breath of relief when they turned another corner. 

He checked the hall, watching Crowley and the prince walk away and feeling slightly remorseful. “Good bye, Crowley, I’ll miss you,” he whispered to himself before making his escape from the castle. 

Once outside, he knew he wasn’t in the clear until he made it past the castle gates. He thought briefly of going to Sarah’s, but dismissed that idea, not wanting to get her into more trouble. Besides, her place was probably the first place Dean would look. 

It took a while for him to get to the wall surrounding the town. There were a lot of guards, but they were guarding against people entering, not leaving. Sam found that he could slip away unnoticed.

Once he was beyond the wall, his heart soared and a wide smile split his face as he took off at a dead run across the frozen ground. Freedom was his. 

***

Sitting in the large, formal dining room, at a table that could sit 60, Dean stared moodily at the porcelain timepiece sitting on a large chest against to the wall. Sam had made himself scarce all day. He hadn’t been ordered to share lunch with him and apparently was enjoying his freedom. He hadn’t been ordered to meet up for tea, and hadn’t bothered to show up for that either. But he had been ordered to dinner, and he damned well better show.

It was sixteen minutes past dinnertime when Dean bellowed for Crowley to get his ass in there. 

“Yes your Excellency...”

“I am in no joking mood,” Dean snapped. “Where the hell is he?”

“I’m sure he’ll be along, he must have let time get--”

“Did I order him to dinner at 7:00 p.m. sharp?”

“Yes you did.”

“Am I still Prince.”

“Yes you are, your Highness, but...”

“And do I hold rank over him and everyone else here?”

“Well, yes....”

“Then get his ass in here. Right now. I don’t care if he’s in the shower, half dressed, in the middle of a game, or smelling the flowers. He does _not_ keep me waiting. Ever.”

Crowley gave a bow. “I have everyone looking for him. This morning, he was upset. He--”

“He was upset, I was upset. You don’t see me skulking. I don’t want any more excuses. He will eat his morning and evening meals with me, even if he sulks right through them and makes it clear he cannot bear my company.”

Before Crowley could answer, another servant came in and reported to Crowley. “We’ve looked everywhere, sir. Even the dungeons and the garden sheds. He’s not in the castle.”

Dean’s eyes flared. All of the torch lights burned brighter. 

“Sarah.” He slammed his hand on the table, “sonovabitch!” 

Pulling away from the table, he started to march out. Crowley was hard on his heels.

“Your Highness, he was speaking of getting away, running away. I told him there was nowhere to go....”

Dean didn’t respond. The large doors opened for him and he was outside, calling for his horse to be brought to him. It had barely trotted to a stop in front of him when he mounted, and galloped into town.

*

Sarah opened the door and gasped when the Prince pushed right past her and into her home. “I’ve done as you ordered, your Highness, I haven’t left the prem--”

“Where is he?” Dean demanded, popping his head inside her bedroom, then walking to the other room in her house.

“Sam? I haven’t seen him. I haven’t been to the castle, just as you ordered. He... he hasn’t been to see me, your Highness.”

Dean strode back and stood in front of her. “Where. Is. He?”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head. “I swear. Maybe if you ask Crowley. He....” 

Turning on his heels, Dean left her house and took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the bottom, he found some of his men had arrived. “I want every inch of this town searched, every inch.”

“Yes your Highness. Highness, Mister Crowley asked me to tell you that the West Gate was unmanned and someone was seen leaving through it.”

“What?” Dean stood stock still. “Why wasn’t he stopped?”

“The guards are there to keep the wraith out, not people in. They were low on men because they were heading for the wraith pits. The tower watch kept an eye on the gate, but there was no sign of trouble. The man who left, could have been a guard. Your Highness?” the guard looked up as Dean mounted.

Dean dug his heels into the sides of the horse and headed straight for the West Gate. Stopping only to get armed and to put on a protective cloak, he took off in the cold frozen land, the wind turning bitter and sharp as soon as he was a short distance from the castle. 

There was nothing in this direction. Nothing until the dead forest and what used to be the quaint town of Sunnyside. A newcomer who escaped the occasional wilderbeast or wraith out here in the open might think the woods or town offered shelter. They’d be wrong. The towns were where most people had frozen, and those where the places where the murderous wraith were coming alive. 

“God dammit... God dammit Sam, don’t you go dying on me. Don’t you do it,” he warned through gritted teeth, riding harder and with more determination.

* * * 

Sam trudged onward despite how frozen his feet felt, despite the bitter cold biting at his flesh through the thin cotton of his sweat suit, the hooded cloak offering little added protection from the frigid temperatures. He’d tucked his arms in against his torso and was now blowing into his cold numb hands. 

His breaths slowed as he panted softly through nearly frozen lips. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, he stumbled and nearly fell as his frozen and numb foot struck a rock. His arms wind-milled over his head as he fought to steady himself, and then he wrapped them around himself again, teeth chattering at the extreme drop in temperature the further he got from the castle. 

He’d put on every piece of clothing he’d brought, layering them over each other, but it wasn’t enough. Just when he feared there was no hope for him, that he might not make it, he spotted the silhouette of a small village in the distance. A smile pulled at his frozen lips, cracking the skin and making him taste blood. _Salvation._ He had somewhere to go, and surely someone there would allow him to take refuge from the cold in the warmth of their home. He would gladly even accept the barn if they offered him blankets. 

The prospect of shelter had him quickening his steps, though he struggled to stay upright and not to slip on the slick, frozen ground. Even so, the village was farther than he’d imagined, and the journey felt like it was taking forever. 

He squinted in an attempt to make out whether or not any of the homes had smoke coming from the chimneys, none of them seemed to. But how could that be right? How could an entire village of people be sitting in homes without the fires burning with as cold as it was? 

As he entered the village, he stumbled and fell, a cry of alarm breaking from his throat. He landed flat on his back with a hard thud that knocked the wind momentarily from his lungs. 

Panting heavily, Sam lifted himself up into a sitting position, looking back at whatever had caused him to fall and a loud scream ripped from his throat at the sight of the skeletal remains of a human body, half of it frozen into the ground and the other half lying on top of it. 

He rolled over and hurriedly crawled across the frozen ground, scurrying away from the dead body, his heart pounding in his ears as fear gripped him hard and twisted in his gut. He scrambled to his feet and nearly fell again when pain shot through his ankle. This time however he grabbed hold of the side of the well to catch himself. One hand pulled away to grip the leg of the affected ankle, teeth clenched with pain. 

Pulling himself closer to the well, he leaned against it and rubbed his icy hand up and down his cold leg. Unable to feel the touch of his own hand against his skin through his pant leg, he was uncertain as to whether or not it too was frozen like the land around him. 

His head pivoted, searching the town for some sign of life, for some assistance, someone to offer him shelter. “Hello!” he called out only to receive no answer. 

“Hello!!” 

Still nothing. 

Pushing away from the well, he limped toward the first dwelling. Lifting a hand, he leaned his weight against the walls while he moved, keeping the weight off his injured ankle as he made his way around to the door. Gripping the handle, he jerked his hand back quickly at the icy feel of the metal. His hand burned, and he put it to his mouth, blowing to useless try to warm it just a little.

Just as he entered, something viciously knocked him back. As he fell to the ground, a loud, animalistic growl blasted his eardrums. Thinking it was a guard dog of sorts, he started to sit up and call for help, as he searched in the dark for his attacker.

Only when his eyes adjusted to the darkness did he see a creature, an abomination like he’d never seen even in his nightmares. It was part human and part monster… it was… he didn’t know what it was. Only that it was coming towards him, dragging one leg behind it, like it was broken and twisted, and yet the creature noticed no pain. 

Sam crawled backwards even as the creature moved towards him. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure it would soon stop in his chest. As the creature neared, it became more horrific. He was able , to see the twisted leg, the torn muscles and flesh, as if the monster had been partially eaten or something. 

“Oh God, oh God, no, no, please, keep away,” he begged softly as he continued to scurry back as best he could. It was no use, he was injured and whether that _thing_ was or not, it didn’t seem to care and soon, it was standing directly over Sam, a snarl curling its lips as it reached for him. 

“No!!!” Sam screamed, shielding himself with his arms as he turned his face away and squeezed his eyes closed. 

He was going to die, whatever this thing was, it was going to rip him limb from limb. He was going to die out there, so far away from home, so far away from his family and friends. They’d never know, never get the chance to mourn him, and never be able to lay his body to rest next to his mother. Tears pricked his eyes and he gasped in an audible breath, his eyes opening and head turning back as he felt the creature grip one of his arms. Seeing the thing pull back a hand, razor sharp, nails like claws gracing each of its fingers, he went silent. He prayed, prayed for a miracle, for a savior, for a quick death. And then, he felt a horrible pain ricochet through his skull and explode behind his eyelids before his world then went blissfully black; God had granted him the quick death he’d asked for, he was listening even in this frozen hell, Sam was sure of it. 

 

*

Dean rode through the town at break neck speed, riding through the narrow village streets. _Please don’t be here._ His heart thundered almost as loudly as the horse’s hooves striking the frozen ground. Every once in a while, he’d rein the horse in, listen and watch the animal’s reaction, then take off again. 

When he was coming through the same streets again, his horse suddenly lifted up her front legs and neighed. The way she nervously stepped in place and tried to back up or get away was enough of a signal for Dean. “Shshsh... I’ll be a minute,” he whispered, patting her neck before dismounting. He looked around, then tied her to a post outside a cottage and drew the sword from the sheath at his back.

Keeping his footfalls as silent as he could, and trying to hear above the roar of his blood rushing in his ears, he ducked into the cottage. The living room was in shambles. A low moan from an adjoining room had him running to where the sound came from. 

A woman turned suddenly. Or from behind, she’d appeared to be a woman. This, what he saw before him, was a mindless wraith, her face gaunt and skull-like, her jaw clicking as she eyed him. “Sonovabitch.” He thought he recognized her. 

The wraith moved towards him, arms outstretched and fingers flexing. 

He pulled the door shut and quickly found a chair and lodged it under the handle, locking her inside. He tried not to kill these things, whenever possible, because he hoped that if the curse was ever lifted, they would return to themselves. It was a hope that was quickly fading with the passage of time.

Dean marched through the rest of the rooms and saw that a back door was open. Although he was anxious to get back to the horse and see if there were other signs of wraiths, or of Sam, something made him walk through the doors. 

Outside, his cloak billowed around him as the wind kicked up. He heard more moaning, and grunting. Mouth tightening, he followed the sound, keeping a tight grip on his sword.

There. He saw two wraiths, each holding a man’s booted foot and dragging him through the snow. A trail of blood followed behind them. 

_Sam!_

“Come here, you sonsofbitches. Come get me! Live bait!” he shouted, his gaze moving from the lifeless body on the ground to the monsters. “God damn you, come get me!” he shouted again, running towards them, anger and hate propelling him faster towards them.

They dropped their meal and started for Dean, making a screeching sound that was carried by the wind. From a distance, there were more moans and screeches. 

_Shit_. It had to be a horde of them. 

He had to get Sam and get away from here. Having no choice, he gave these wraiths no mercy. He swung his sword again and again, cutting one of them down, then cutting down the parts that had fallen to the ground but which were still after him. While he went after the second one, something jumped off the ground and bit into his thigh... the same thigh that was now almost healed.

Forcing himself not to scream and to tolerate the pain as he fought the other wraith, he caught a glimpse of the hand that was burrowing through his flesh and muscle. He kicked the wraith that was still standing, then used the tip of his sword, sliding it under the palm of the hand on him, prying it off. This time, as the fingers ripped from his flesh, he did scream. And his scream was replied by moans and groans from wraiths coming out of buildings towards them.

Dean ran to Sam and hefted him up over his shoulder, cursing him for being a giant. As he headed back to the street, the injured wraith almost got them, but he managed to behead it, though it was still coming, falling and banging into fences as it went.

“Whoa... come on girl. C’mere,” he ordered his horse. Reluctantly, she trotted closer but kept jerking her head up and neighing. As he threw Sam across the horse, in front of the saddle, he managed to touch his face and neck. He was warm, warmer than the air that was a good sign. Maybe. 

Mounting the horse, Dean tugged on the reins, freeing them from the post. He didn’t even have to dig his heels in, the horse took off, away from the horde collecting behind them.

They galloped across the frozen snow, moving into barren territory. Eventually, Dean slowed the horse and dismounted. “Sam? Sam are you...” He thought his heart stopped when two fingers to Sam’s throat felt no pulse. “Sam!” he snapped, covering Sam’s injured forehead and calling on his magic. He couldn’t waste too much time, but he gave it a few minutes, then checked for a pulse again.

There it was. Slow, too slow, but there. 

He didn’t want to put too much stock in it. By the time they reached the castle, everything could change. He had to be prepared for that. And yet, the thought of Sam’s life slipping away had him choking on a damned sob.

He shifted Sam, made him straddle the horse and mounted up behind him, holding him up. Taking his cloak off, he wrapped it around Sam, then took off again, swearing nothing on the planet would stop him before he was through the gates, nothing.

* * *

Sam groaned softly and his head rolled to the side. The first thing that he noticed was that he was finally warm, so much warmer than before. His lips curved slightly upward as he snuggled down underneath the warmth of the blanket laying over him. Blanket? His brow creased with confusion. He didn’t know a lot about Heaven, but he wasn’t exactly sure that he ought to be covered in a _blanket_. 

He turned his head again, wincing at the pain that stabbed through it and made the room spin slightly. Okay, pain was something he was positive was not a part of Heaven. He heard voices in the distance slowly growing closer until it almost sounded as if they were on top of him. He cracked his eyes open, lashes fluttering as he forced them open despite their resistance to moving. Hazy and slightly blurry, he noted that he was surrounded by what looked like the same type of doctor as had worked on Dean, in fact, she was one of the handful standing around him. 

Tears filled his eyes and he fought to stifle the sob that was lodged in his throat as he realized that he was back in the castle, Dean’s castle. _Oh God, I just wanna go home,_ he thought. Likely, one of the guards had been sent out to fetch him once he had been reported missing. Not that he exactly knew why, it wasn’t as though anyone here truly cared. 

Looking down at the ground, Dean listened to what the doctors had to say. They felt he’d done all he could on the magical healing front, but the rest would take time. It didn’t look like he had a concussion, but a nurse would have to watch and keep an eye on him.

“I’ll watch him,” Dean said gruffly.

“He’s waking,” Crowley announced.

Dean leaned a little to see into the room. Sam had bandaging around his head, looked pale and his eyes were mere slits. If he wasn’t mistaken, those were tears glistening on his cheeks. He felt his heart clench a little, then nodded at Crowley. “Go, be with him. I’ll watch over him when he’s asleep.” He knew Sam would prefer Crowley’s companionship.

Giving a quick bow, Crowley followed the doctor into the room and, once she’d finished her quick examination, he stood over Sam. “Gave us quite a scare there, young master. Must have quite the headache though.” 

Sam sniffled softly as he nodded, then groaned, regretting the action. He pulled a hand from beneath the covers and reached up to cup his head and wound up fingering the bandages. 

“What - what happened?” he murmured softly, “I thought this... It was supposed to be Heaven,” he mumbled dejectedly. 

“Some would call Castica heaven, at least during our glorious past,” Crowley smiled. “It’ll all come back to you. The doctor said you’re not to think too hard. Now, how about some nice tea and toast or biscuits, hmm?”

“Bread,” Sam rasped hoarsely, “Do you have...?” he paused and his tongue darted out, licking across his lips. “Can I have bread instead? Homemade,” he added, “Fresh...with butter.”

He lifted the hand that had been against his brow and grasped Crowley’s hand in his, “But don’t,” he murmured, tightening his grasp almost desperately, “Don’t leave,” he instructed. “Send somebody else. I - I’m scared,” he confessed, this time in too much pain to blush though he was embarrassed by his admission. _why_.

“Consider it done,” Crowley said, squeezing Sam’s hand and releasing it. Walking to the door, he whispered, ordering that fresh bread, butter and jam be brought in with tea. He also told Dean, who was still hovering around, that Sam was afraid and on the verge of panic.

Dean merely nodded, though the fire light in Sam’s bedroom roared up into a full flame, as did all the torches, so the room was lit up as if it were daylight. 

Heading back inside, Crowley pulled a chair next to Sam’s bed and sat down. “After you eat, I can read to you if you like. It’ll help you fall asleep, particularly if we select a boring book,” he winked.

A soft chuckle broke from Sam only to have him wince and reach for his head once more. He slowly pulled his hand down, his gaze centered on Crowley. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes drooping, slowly blinking closed and open as he fought sleep, smiling adoringly up at Crowley as if he were the best thing since...well, since sliced homemade bread. 

“Right, you need to stay awake for a while. Just to make sure you don’t have a concussion. I’ll help you sit up,” Crowley said, helping Sam up and arranging a few large pillows behind his back. “That’s better. And is that your stomach I heard growling? You know you missed the most delicious roast beef and rosemary potatoes, and that’s just one of the courses.”

Sam was grateful that Crowley helped him sit up but he wasn’t entirely certain that it was going to help, since he was still having trouble holding his eyes open. Nevertheless, there was some part of him, deep inside, that resisted the notion of falling asleep, afraid of what might be waiting for him in his dreams. 

He forced a smile for Crowley’s sake, “Sounds...good...” he managed to force the words out, albeit slightly slurred. 

“I’ll bet it does. And look what we have here,” Crowley said, turning around at the sound of a tray being rolled in behind him. 

The two servants, both of them women, wore matching unitards, netted stockings, and just a bustle covering up their rears. “Or don’t look, wouldn’t want you getting a heart attack. I’ll do the looking, “ Crowely offered, as the leggy servants put a bed tray across Sam’s lap and poured him some tea.

“We were about to go down to the dungeons, and then Lisle heard Master Sam had been found. She’s got quite a crush on him,” she giggled.

“Don’t listen to her,” Lisle said, her face flushing. “She’s just pulling my leg.”

Sam grinned sheepishly and ducked his head, his face almost flushing though it only served to make him look a tad less pale if only for a few moments; unable to believe that someone would actually have a crush on _him_. 

He nodded at Lisle’s words, his thoughts having been confirmed, “I know,” he murmured. “M’sure your king or prince or whatever he is,” his brain wasn’t totally working correctly, “told everyone within hearing distance about what a disappointment I am,” he mused, surprisingly unabashed by his own frankness. 

Her eyes widened. She looked over at her sister, and then at Crowley. “No Sir, I haven’t heard anything like that. I’m sure you’ve got no short... shortcomings. You being tall, and not short, and...” She trailed off as her sister dragged her out of the room.

Crowley pushed the rolling tray to the side and poured himself a cup of tea before joining Sam. “I wonder how many other doe eyed ladies and gents you’ve left in your wake. Who knew?” He gave Sam a look, then frowned at the tray on his lap. “Do you need me to butter your bread?”

Sam missed most of what Lisle’s response was as he was half asleep and nearly about to face plant himself into his cup of tea when Crowley’s words had him sucking in a startled breath. “Mm?” he murmured then shook his head, “No, I got it,” he assured as he reached for the butter and a knife. 

“Well don’t stab yourself,” Crowley rolled his eyes and watched as Sam finally got started eating. “I can bring some dancing boys and girls in to keep you awake,” he threatened. “The sort who don’t wear much clothing.”

Sam snickered and shook his head, “Nah, I’m...” he nodded, “I’m feeling better,” he muttered around a piece of bread that he’d just bitten off. “Bread’s helpin’ I think.” 

Chuckling, Crowley took a sip of his tea and kept a watchful eye on the boy as he ate and drank. When he dropped the last piece of bread down on the tray and leaned back against the pillows, Crowley nodded. “It’s time for you to rest.”

He cleared away the tray and helped Sam lay down, then pulled the covers up over his shoulders. “Right, let’s see, what can I read to you? “The Erotic Adventures Of Astrid?” Chuckling under his breath, he selected another book. “Maybe something a bit tamer to start off with, then.”

* * *

After Sam fell asleep, Dean took Crowley’s seat and watched over Sam. A day or two ago, he would have crawled under the covers and held him close, kept him safe, but now... Now it was only too clear it wasn’t what Sam wanted. Pulling his hood down over half his face, Dean sat back, holding a book, but staring off into the fire.

*

At first, Sam had fought sleep, listening to the comforting drone of Crowley’s accented voice. But it wasn’t long before his weakened body gave in to the temptation of sleep. At first, his sleep had been dreamless, quiet and soothing, but then, bit by bit, his mind began to replay what had happened outside the castle walls. Soon he was beginning to toss, his head jerking to one side then the other as soft whimpers broke from his throat. 

“No,” he whined in his sleep. “No, please...” another whimper broke from his throat, his brow creased in fearful misery. “No! No! No! Help! Pa! Pa!” he screamed, thrashing on the bed, his hands lifted, batting at the air in an effort to fight off an invisible foe; though in his mind it was the monster he had encountered out in the cold that he fought and struggled against. 

Getting up, Dean sat on the side of the bed and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, shaking it lightly. “Shshsh, just a dream. Wake up Sammy, it’s just a dream,” he promised. “You’re safe now, safe with _me_.” He stumbled over the word, then chastised himself for being an idiot. “Sa--- Sam!” he exclaimed, when Sam managed to smack him in the face. Dean gripped Sam’s wrists and held them. “Sammy, wake up!”

Sam startled awake, his eyes wide and wild, chest rising and falling heavily with his panted breaths. He lay there a long moment, just staring up at Dean then tugged his arms free and as he abruptly sat up, threw his arms around Dean and buried his face against the material that covered side of Dean’s neck, shoulders shaking as he wept.

Immediately, Dean closed his arms around Sam and held him, stroking his hair with one hand. “It’s alright. It’s over, you’re safe,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Sammy.” Tightening his hold, he rocked gently, unable to think past how lucky he was, they both were. If those wraiths had started chomping on him... It was too awful to think about. 

“It was so horrible,” Sam mumbled against the material of Dean’s hood, his words muffled by it. “I was so scared... I’ve never been that scared before... I thought...I thought...” he tightened his hold around Dean and squeezed his eyes tighter closed as a fearful shiver ran down his spine. 

“I know. I know. But they’re gone now, and you’re safe. You’ll never have to see anything like that again, I promise.” He kissed the top of Sam’s head and closed his eyes, cold blossoming in his belly at the thought of the castle... his world, without Sam. 

Sam slowly pulled his head back, gazing into Dean’s face, his own tear streaked and his nose a bright red. His long dark lashes clung together from the dampness of his tears as he blinked a couple times. He sniffled softly as his gaze searched Dean’s face and his brow slowly knitted with confused curiosity. 

“Why do you have your hood on?” he inquired. 

Dean shrugged and wiped Sam’s tears off his face. “Would you like something to drink? Water, tea or... would you like Crowley to... to come in? He’s sleeping in your dressing chamber in case he’s needed.” What he really wanted to do was kiss Sam. Kiss him again and again and make him promise never to put his life at risk again. 

Sam sniffled and searched Dean’s face before pulling one arm from around him, though he kept the other securely tightened around Dean and reached up, pushing the hood back from Dean’s face. “You should leave it off,” he murmured. 

Dean flinched at the gesture and stared at Sam, resisting the urge to pull it back over his head and face. Sam’s words... _monster_... still haunted him. 

“Do you want Crowley?” Dean asked again, rather than addressing Sam’s question about the hood. 

“He doesn’t have to sleep there, he could sleep in here, with me,” Sam muttered with a glance around the room before returning his attention to Dean. “I mean, ya know...like a slumber party, there’s enough room on the floor...” 

“Whatever you want.” Dean licked his lips and looked toward the other room, then back at Sam. “If you call him, he’ll come running.” 

Sam’s brow creased a moment before he figured out that Crowley was there to get him whatever he needed, and to wake him from his nightmares. “Then why are you here?” he asked, laying his head on Dean’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, feeling oddly safe and secure in Dean’s arms. “Just don’t go, okay?” he whispered. “Promise you won’t go.” 

“I’m not the one who’s going anywhere,” Dean answered softly. “Sleep now. No more nightmares.”

Long after Sam fell asleep in his arms, Dean held onto him. Memorizing how Sam felt, how warm he was and how good he smelled. By the Gods, this boy felt like he belonged in his arms, even looked like it when he was laying against him, at peace and with a content expression on his face. 

_But only in sleep..._

In sleep, where he could imagine it was Crowley’s or Sarah’s arms around him. Swallowing hard over the lump in his throat, Dean turned his face and saw Crowley watching. He didn’t acknowledge the man in the door frame, he just held on to the moment that would soon slip away.


	13. Chapter 13

Come morning, Dean and Crowley were arguing just outside Sam’s bedroom door. 

“I beg you to reconsider. You care for him. I know you do,” Crowley said, waving his arms. “Give it a chance.”

“And how has that caring served me, or him?” Dean demanded. “He almost got himself killed. He ran from one monster into the arms of other monsters.”

“Highness don’t. Words are said in anger, you know--”

“Words, yes. Actions?” Dean pointed into the room. “He went out of the protection of the walls. Do you know what that means? Do you know what I was expecting to find when I went after him, when I saw him on the ground, on his face?”

“He’s not of this world. He might not have understood why we don’t leave the wall. Please, speak with him. You were not at odds last night,” Crowley pointed out.

“Last night. After he’d taken a hit to his head and was scared silly.” Dean snorted, “Five. I should have collected enough magic by then. And if he wants to take gifts with him, for his family and friends, let him.”

“Your Highness...”

Dean didn’t answer. Shoulders hunched slightly, he strode down the hall, the torches flicker to reflect his mood.

***

When Sam awoke it was to find that he was alone. His head felt slightly better and he was famished. He threw back the blankets and sat up, swinging his feet off the side of the bed. Stretching he yawned then grimaced as he felt muscles and sore spots, bruises coming alive on his body. Note to self, no falling down on icy ground. It hurt worse than falling out of Jimmy Olmsted's barn loft. 

Pulling to his feet, he frowned at the sound of voices just outside his room. He ventured over to the door and pulled it back just a tad more so that he could see and listen. Once the apparent argument ended, Sam’s gaze darted from Dean’s retreating back to Crowley. 

“Five what?” he asked, knowing full well that he likely should have announced himself first since it was impolite to listen in as well as scare the devil out of someone. 

“What are you doing out of bed? Get back in, unless you’re going to the privy. No wait, I’ll have one brought to you,” he said, shooing Sam in the direction of the bed.

Sam turned to do as Crowley said then paused, “But what did Dean mean by five?” he asked again. “Five what? Come on, tell me, _please_.” 

“He’s gathering magic, so he has enough to take you home. Back to your planet.” Crowley, for one, would sorely miss this naive lad, who was quick to smile and old fashioned beyond belief. “His Highness gives you leave to take anything you want in gifts. For your family and friends. And of course, anything you want for yourself. Come on, now, back to bed. You need to be in good health and in one piece to make the journey.” Walking past Sam, he pulled the coverings back.

“I get to go home?” Sam inquired excitedly as he followed Crowley back into the bedroom, a wide smile curving his lips and causing deep dimples to show in his cheeks. “Woohoo!” he shouted victoriously as he jumped up on the bed and began to jump up and down on the soft mattress, arms raised above his head. He allowed himself to fall onto his butt on the mattress as he grinned up at Crowley, “So how long do I have? When do I need to be back?”

“Stop that. Your head, your... “ Crowley put his hand on his hip in exasperation. “I will have the doctor come in and sedate you if necessary, and I know how much you like her. And what do you mean, how long do you have?” Sam’s elation was disappointing. Understandable, but disappointing. 

“Just what I said,” Sam replied simply with a shrug of one shoulder. “Dean said that I could visit home, but that I would always have to return, I just wanted to know how long he was gonna let me stay,” he explained. “Oh!” he exclaimed, eyes wide and full of excitement, “You could come with me!” he suggested happily. “Yes! I would love for you to meet my Pa and my sister Meg. Come on, Crowley, say you’ll come with me. It could be like a vacation for you. Time away before we both have to be back.”

“I can’t survive away from Castica for more than half a day, none of us can,” Crowley gently reminded Sam. “And you’re not going on _vacation_. You’re being returned. Where you belong,” he said, forcing the words out, though he was not yet completely convinced there was no hope for love to blossom between this youth and the Prince. “I’ll help you choose what to take. Some things for fun, some things to secure your future.”

Sam’s smile melted away and he stared gobsmacked at Crowley for a long moment. “He...” he breathed then swallowed hard. “Is he mad at me for running away? I just wanted to go home, you know, to see my Pa, talk to him...maybe get some advice on this whole...whatever this is...I mean, I’ve never courted anyone before but Pa has. And I was hurting, he was so mean to me...all because...” his face flushed but his bottom lip trembled. “All because I...I...I can’t....” he sighed heavily. “Icometoofast,” he blurted, running the words all into one another in a poor attempt at not having Crowley look down on him since everyone here seemed to be totally focused on sex. 

Sam’s eyes widened as he suddenly realized just why it might be that Dean was sending him home, “Is that it? Is that why he is sending me away?” he demanded, his voice louder, shaking slightly with anger. “Where is he? Is he in his room? The dungeons? Where?” he snarled, climbing off the bed, mindless of his injuries and turning a deaf ear to his friend. He stormed out and headed down the hall, stubbornly determined to find Dean. 

*

Dean was sitting with a pile of ledgers in front of him, working out the supply situation and determining where to put their resources. With more wraith hordes having been sighted, some even trying to get through the walls, he needed reinforcements. For that, he needed workers, workers who would be pulled off from one task to serve on another. And they’d need to leave the safety of the castle walls to bring back stone and steel. The workers would have to be protected.

Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face, inadvertently smudging blue ink over his nose. Hearing footsteps he signed again. As if the situation with Sam wasn’t making it difficult for him to concentrate, the endless interruptions were almost too much.

Without turning to see who it was, he put his hand out, dangling the shiny beaded necklace. “No I don’t want a blow job, but here... you can say I had a grand old time.”

Sam stood in the doorway and glared daggers at Dean’s back. “You sorry, bloody arse!” he yelled and slammed the door closed behind him as he slowly walked toward Dean. 

“Who the _bloody ’ell_ do you think you are? You can’t send me back just because you...you...tried me on for size and don’t like it! You ruined me! I can’t go back there now and live! You...you’re the biggest jerkiest... _jug head_ that I’ve ever met! You - you’re not perfect either, but do _I_ say anything about it? No! I accept you the way you are! But me, you set me aside just because I...I... well, you _know_ what I do!” he roared.

Unafraid of the imposing man behind the desk, Sam continued to walk toward him. “You think, ‘Oh I’ll just toss this one back and try another one’! Well sorry, chump, but you can’t do that! You might be Prince around, here but where I’m from you’re just a regular old coot with an attitude problem! So, now you’re stuck with me! And if you don’t like seein’ me around here then _fine_ , get me a house in town, but I can no more go back there forever than Crowley can...or you can...not that you’d fit in there. In fact, you’d probably end up getting you’re bloody arse beat,” he spat, chest heaving with his breaths, “but still...” he muttered, the last of his words less violent as he slowly ran himself out wind. 

Stunned, Dean sat back and stared as he was yelled and sworn at in a comic combination of Crowley’s choice phrases and Sam’s own old fashioned twang. He cleared his throat. “Then, I take it, you’re not here to offer a blow job.” 

Dean was buying time, trying to think what had brought this madness on. Dropping the beads onto the large pile of necklaces on the table, he got up to face Sam’s breathless fury. 

“People from other planets need to come with directions, because... I. I Don’t. Get. You.” Dean locked gazes with Sam. “I care for you. A lot. But I can’t get anything right. I say something, and it sends you crying. I say something else, and you’re madder at me than a wilderbeast. You run from me... you’d rather face certain death than me, and I can’t... I will not let you die, Sam. Do you hear me? I’d rather you were millions of miles away, happy, with your sister and your father, than...” he sliced his hand through the air. “It takes a lot of hate for someone to prefer what is _out there_ to me. Now go, I’m done talking.” He curtly nodded toward the door, indicating an end to the conversation.

Sam stared incredulously at Dean. “I don’t give a pig’s testicle if you’re done talking or not,” he spat and shoved at Dean’s chest. “Maybe, if you shut that trap’a yours and listen then I wouldn’t be such a mystery to you! It’s funny that Crowley gets me! That Sarah gets me! But then they aren’t pompous bloody jerk arses either!” He roared, then stood with his chest while glaring angrily at Dean. He was pretty sure that he had gotten the phrasing wrong with that last curse, but at this point, he didn’t care. 

“The swearing... it’s got to...” Dean started, but Sam wasn’t done apparently. 

“If you weren’t so bloody...bloody,” Sam pressed his lips together, cheeks puffed out with anger as he tried to think of another swear word. “A... prized pig at the state fair in love with itself,” he was almost certain that the phrasing there left much to be desired and likely lacked the venom that he’d wished for, but it was all he could come up with. “Then you’d stop thinking about you and start listening to me!” 

“I do listen. I am--”

“Yeah, I ran away...I wanted to see my Pa, not move home! Not die! And where I went or what I did has nothing to do with hate. I don’t hate anyone. My Pa says hate is the gateway to sin and damnation. But you’re drivin’ me close to it,” he growled, eyes tightening into slits once more. 

“Stop sendin’ people away! You’re not God! Stop makin’ fun of people for their shortcomin’s! You don’t want people to pick on you, I don’t wanna hear about how you’re gonna go tell Crowley, MY BEST FRIEND, that I come too fast, you stupid jerk! How hard is that to understand! Heck, my baby sister knows enough to not go tellin’ secrets! And if you’d stop and ASK ME before ya go off just assumin’ stuff maybe you’d know how _I_ really felt! You think you are so...so... special ‘cause somebody went and made you a prince, well I got news for ya, it don’t mean nothin’ if you’re only gonna be in love with yourself!” 

“See there?” Dean broke in. “Half of that... I have _no clue_ what the fuck you’re talking about. Oh, and while I’m swearing, you... stop swearing. It doesn’t become you, it’s not you I’m hearing, I’m hearing Crowley on drugs!” Oh, he’d bet Crowley was outside the door enjoying himself. 

“Your Pa, your home, it’s not outside the castle walls. You want me to believe you went looking for them when you know damned well you can’t get there? That’s bullshit. That’s another swear word you _don’t_ need to use, ever.” The rest of Sam’s accusations had Dean reeling. “And what shortcomings are you talking about? What did I tell Crowley? Are you freaking nuts? The snow must have frozen your brain because nothing like that EVER happened. I never complained to you or to anybody else about... about that. There’s nothing to complain about. Nothing.” His own chest was rising and falling as his eyes drilled into Sam’s.

Sam shoved him again, “Stop it!” he roared, “Stop lying! Pa says that a liar will burn!” He drew in a breath to try to control his anger, he’d never been this angry, not even when kids had taunted Meg he hadn’t been this angry. Sure, he’d blackened an eye or two, but he hadn’t wanted to throttle them within an inch of their lives. 

“I know now,” Sam said, his voice more level and softer, “that you call out Crowley’s name all the bloody time, and that half the time you don’t go through with half of what you say. But I didn’t know that then....and it hurt me. It...it hurt bad. I’m not use to all this... but I can’t ever go home. I don’t want to go. Not forever, I want to stay here...with you. Somebody’s gotta look after you,” he reasoned. “And these damn fools aren’t half worth a bloody nickel other than Crowley and he can’t _be_ everywhere.” 

Dean wasn’t sure he’d heard Sam say this much, ever. And every time he tried to break in, Sam would take a small breath and launch into his rant again.

“Now look, you need to _think_ before you say things. Think how they would make me feel. You want me to be happy, then _you_ make me happy. You want me to share your bed, then make me _want_ to share your bed. Woo me, court me, _listen_ to me. Crowley claims you can read, so get one of your books, you’ve got bloody ‘nuff of them, read one on relationships, on courting, on how to not be a bloody jerk!” 

He blinked and turned his head toward the door, “I’m saying bloody too much aren’t I?” 

“Try arse again,” Crowley’s whispered voice came from behind the door. 

Sam turned back toward Dean then looked at the pile of necklaces. He marched over to them, picked up a handful and threw them across the room. “And if your bloody arse wants me in your bed then _stop_ givin’ bullshit to others for blow jobs!” he yelled. “If I’m yours then your stupid bloody arse is _mine_! See!?! It’s bullshit like that!” 

Sam’s chest rose and fell heavily and the corner of his lips quirked upward slightly at his having used Crowley’s swear word, twice now. 

“And yeah, I thought...I dunno what I thought. I wanted to see my Pa, ask his advice. He and I use to talk about stuff. I’ve never courted someone before, Pa has. And yeah, maybe you told me that we were a bloody planet away or whatever, arse, I don’t even know what a bloody arse planet arse is! So, yeah, I didn’t believe you! I heard Dean on drugs, ya stupid arse jug headed jerk bloody...whatever!” Sam spat. 

“Breathe,” Dean shot a look at Crowley and ordered the man, “Get him to breathe.”

“You really should breathe,” Crowley advised, sporting a small smile.

“And tell him it’s not my fault. The beads.” Dean stared at Crowley. 

“Right, not his fault. At all, which reminds me. Your Highness would you like a blow--”

“No! Here, take your damned beads,” Dean snarled, grabbing a string that had been thrown to the floor and tossing it at Crowley. He turned to Sam. “It’s my Name Day. Everyone offers. But I warn you, if _you_ offer, you’ll have to work for the damned beads.”

“Ooh that would be a bloody good sight,” Crowley smirked. 

“Crowley, if he does not know by tonight what a planet is, how far away he is from home, and what is outside those walls, you’re fired.”

“Right. You could tell him yourself, he’s right here and he’s caught his breath.” 

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here, ya arse!” Sam growled angrily, eyes narrowed at Dean. “Crowley, tell him to stop acting like I’m not here!” 

“Right, I did that,” Crowley noted, trying not to look too pleased about all the _talking_ that was being accomplished.

“And while you’re at it, tell him that you don’t want to be the messenger between us. That there is supposed to be _two_ people in a relationship. Not two people and the one guy’s best friend, who is also the other one’s slave,” he continued. “And furthermore, instead of griping that you’re gonna tell Crowley this and Crowley needs to do that. Get off your high horse and maybe do it yourself, or better yet, _talk to me_ about it! Stop....” Sam growled as he grit his teeth. “Stop being such a jerk!” 

“If I were half the things you accuse me of, I’d have your ass in prison by now,” Dean answered much more coolly. Why couldn’t Sam see the truth? “I’m not a jerk. Or a jug...head... that is, a jug head. And he’s not my slave. He likes working for me, don’t you Crowley?”

“Adore it. I’d wipe your bum if you’d let me,” Crowley answered with a slight bow.

Sam giggled as he looked over at Crowley. He continued to snicker softly as he returned his attention to Dean and cleared his throat at the look he received, stifling his amusement at Crowley’s answer. 

Giving Sam a dark look, Dean waved at Crowley, gesturing toward the door. “Get out, get out, get out.” 

“Go ahead and toss me into prison,” Sam challenged with a shrug of one shoulder. “I don’t care. ’Course it’s gonna look pretty funny when you, the Prince of the frozen waste lands has to get married to the stable boy living in his prison,” he muttered half under his breath. 

Dean cocked his head at that. Was the boy still speaking of marriage? It was very hard for him to believe Sam meant any of it.

“And Master Sam. Will he be staying?” Crowley asked, hovering at the door.

Dean didn’t answer.

“Right.” Bowing, Crowley slowly left.

Dean stepped back, sat on the edge of his table. “Tell me what you want. I mean what do _you_ want, Sam? I won’t change. What you see is what you get, scars and all. The monster in your bed.” He remembered the cutting words only too well. 

Sam returned his attention to Dean. “Seriously?” he asked. “Did that arse of a witch damage your hearing as well as do whatever else he did? ’Cause I sure think you can’t hear...or at least you’ve managed to do what my Ma and Pa never could, tune me out. I kinda already told you what I want. And right back at ya, this is me, accept it or don’t,” he retorted with a lift of his chin. “But either way, I’m not going home, not for anything more than visits. And you might think you can,” he shook his head, “but you can’t make me.”

Sam’s brow creased with confusion briefly before he shook his head, “You’re not a monster, not because of those,” he murmured as he stepped up to Dean and lifted a hand, smoothing his fingertips over the scars as he gazed into Dean’s eyes. “You _act_ like a monster ‘cause you can be a horse’s arse sometimes,” he said with a pointed lift of his brows. 

Dean flinched, then pulled away his face. He’d fallen into the trap of believing that before, but he couldn’t allow himself to again. “You blame me for thoughts I do not have, and for things I have not done. You want to find fault. Maybe you want to be angry. I make you feel things you don’t want to, so you lash out.”

Sam sighed heavily as he allowed his hand to fall back to his side. “You’re wrong,” he retorted. “I blame you for the things you say you are going to do because I had no way of knowing that you would not do them. Not until Crowley told me. Anyway, why would I come in here, why would I demand that I stay if that were the case?” he asked. 

He knew he couldn’t make Dean believe him. “If you decide that you want me to leave, then I ask that you allow me to work, to get a job so that I can make a living. And that you let me ask Crowley if he wants to share the place, it would be nice bunking with a friend, you know? Anyway, it’s up to you now. I’ve said my piece and either you listened or you didn’t,” Sam gave another shrug. “I’m tired now and I think I’ll go lay back down. I guess you can send someone to tell me your decision.” 

Turning, he walked to the door and pulled it open. He paused in the doorway and looked back. “There was something else I said that morning too that you seem to forget, just as you have conveniently forgotten what I said now about taking care of you. I said that I couldn’t believe that I was falling in love with you. Think about that.” 

Turning back he slipped from the room, allowing the door to slip softly closed behind him. 

* * * 

Crowley found Dean brooding in the garden. He had to admit, he hadn’t seen his Prince as sad, and happy, and angry as he’d been since the time Sam had arrived. He was certainly taken by the young man in a way Crowley hadn’t seen, not only in this life, but their lives before the curse.

He cleared his throat.

“Here,” Dean put his hand out, automatically offering a string of beads to whoever broke his solace.

“Already got mine,” Crowley tugged at the beads he was wearing around his neck.

Dean snorted at that. “Sam?”

“In the library, studying astrology and the history of Castica.”

“Good.”

“He said he hoped you were studying ‘courtin’.”

“Did he?” Amusement crept into Dean’s voice. “With all the blow job offers I’m receiving, I’d have thought my natural charm would be enough to win anyone over.”

Crowley chuckled. “It’ll be dinner time soon, would you like a drink?”

Dean shook his head no. “I’m fine.”

“What... about Sam?”

Dean’s eyes lifted and met Crowley’s. “What about him?”

“What’s to happen to him?”

“He says he wants to stay. At the castle or... he wants a place in town, if things don’t work out.” Dean looked out at the rose bushes, not really seeing them.

“Right. It will work out.”

“Will it?” Dean gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and he turned to look at Crowley. “I’m tired. Of hoping. Of... of imagining a future that... Everything I say, he takes it wrong.”

“Then say less.”

“Funny. Oh, you know what’s funnier? If he takes a place in town, he’s going to ask _you_ to live with him.”

“I swear I haven’t touched him. He’s cute and everything but, Dean, Your Highness, I would---”

“Oh stop prancing around, I didn’t say you had. Now you’re being like him, misunderstanding everything. Gods above...” 

“Oh. Right. He...” Crowley swallowed. “Well, I can’t help that I’m charming and likable, even if I’m not the one giving away beads.”

Dean made a face. “Get me that drink.”

Crowley bowed. “As you wish.”

* * * 

Dean sat stiffly at one end of the dining table in the large dining room. He was dressed up and the lighting was quite low. Once again, he was kept waiting. If Sam had taken off for somewhere else, he swore that this time he’d wring his neck.

*

Sam stood in the center of his room, his arms out to his sides as Crowley straightened and tugged at the outfit he was wearing, muttering about how he needed to get it just right. Sam wasn’t clear on how he could get the material to fall any differently, seeing how little of it there was! 

The tight black pants had triangle shaped keyholes all the way down the sites, showing small patches of skin all the way up to his hips. The shirt was red - again with the red - that fact made him roll his eyes. Its material was soft and airy and Crowley said there was no finer silk, and that it was expensive. None of that impressed Sam or made him any happier about wearing it since it had no buttons and hung open from his waist upward, revealing nearly all of his stomach and chest to anyone who happened to look. He had knee high boots on, the same deep black as the pants and Crowley had put a golden amulet around his neck engraved with the Castican seal. He personally thought he looked ridiculous and wasn’t very thrilled with it, especially when the cold metal hit his nipple and had him nearly jumping out of his skin. The only thing that Sam was thankful for was the fact that the doctor had removed his bandages. 

“Are you done yet?” Sam asked, rolling his eyes heavenward. 

“Maybe a bit of pheromone. No, I should spray that all over his Highness, you’re the prickly one tonight,” Crowley said. “Do you like the medallion? It slides back and forth and vibrates... just twist it to the side.... see?”

The medallion slipped over Sam’s nipple and started to stimulate him.

“Perky nipples. That’s the ticket,” Crowley slapped Sam’s back and beamed.

Sam coughed at the slap on the back, nearly toppling over with how tight the pants were. “Uh, actually, can I _not_ wear...” he sighed, “Oh never mind,” he mumbled. “Can I go now? I’m kinda hungry.” 

“Would you like a belt with a similarly stimulating medallion?” Crowley looked at Sam’s crotch. “Could use a bit of bulking up. Eh, we’ll keep that for dessert. He won’t see a thing under the table anyway.”

Sam frowned and glanced down at his crotch before lifting his disgruntled gaze back to Crowley. “Great, now there’s two of you,” he grumbled, walking out whether Crowley was done with him or not. 

He headed down the halls and toward the large dining room, his stomach growling as he neared the kitchens and was able to smell the food that awaited him. He took a detour into the kitchen, following his stomach’s lead and frowned, brow creasing at how it seemed every female and males seemed to be wearing necklaces like the ones that had been sitting on Dean’s desk. 

He sighed heavily, his countenance falling as he surmised that this was Dean’s answer, arse that he was, rather than tell him he’d just sexed up the entire kingdom he was showing him. Principality not kingdom, right. Stealing a slice of homemade bread and some butter, Sam headed out of the kitchens and into the dining room. 

Crowley’s name was on the tip of Dean’s tongue when the doors opened and Sam finally sauntered in. He was nibbling on a hunk of bread, it looked like. Dean was about to complain that it was no wonder he didn’t mind keeping Dean waiting for his meal when he was struck by just how gorgeous Sam looked. 

He felt his blood warm as his gaze slowly swept over every inch of Sam. And he was wearing red and black. Dean would have to remember to give Crowley a boon.

His gaze settled on Sam’s half visible nipple and there could be no denying he approved of Sam’s look. He stood up just as two servants flanked Sam and escorted him to the far end of the long table which could seat fifty people. Dammit. Why hadn’t he asked to be served in one of the smaller rooms? Because when they’d fought, he’d thought it best to keep a lot of distance between them and he hadn’t remanded the order, that’s why.

A servant pulled Sam’s chair out for him.

After taking a seat, Sam looked up, setting the remainder of his bread down on his plate, and watched as Lisle unfurled his napkin. His eyes tracked each movement, and had he been able to, he likely would have toppled back into the chair when her hand went downward toward his crotch. His cheeks flushed a bright red, nearly matching his shirt as her gaze met his, though his lips curved into a grin. “Sorry,” he muttered since he was pretty sure that the way he had jumped had scared her. 

“Don’t be. I’m here to serve,” she said, smiling back.

“Dinner. You’re here to serve dinner,” Dean stressed, though he had to call out loudly to be heard across the room.

She gave a curtsy and stepped back, waving for the other servants to start bringing in the food.

“You look very sex... hotter than... ah... _decent_ , you look real decent,” Dean said, trying to give Sam a compliment Sam would like.

Sam almost smiled, until he caught sight of Lisle’s necklace and wound up quirking a brow. “And you look tuckered out, guess that’s from handin’ out all them necklaces,” he responded before returning his attention to anyone and anything but Dean. 

He smiled at Lisle as she stood serving them the first course. “I thought you were supposed to be in the dungeons,” he teased with a grin. 

“I was, and a rollicking good time was had by all.” After serving the soup, she stepped back. 

Dean frowned. When he mentioned the dungeons, Sam would go as stiff as a board. Yet here he was, teasing a servant girl about it. He _really_ did not understand him.

Dipping his spoon into the bowl, Dean took a sip. “I have a few left, you know. Necklaces,” he said, lifting his gaze to Sam’s.  
Glancing at Sam’s noticeably bead-free chest, Lisle watched the drama closely.

Sam turned his gaze to Dean’s. “Yeah well, my Pa always said that after a Stallion does that for a while, you gotta put him out back in the pasture otherwise he’s too stupid to stop and he’ll shrink up his...” he glanced at Lisle and blushed before returning his gaze to Dean, “His testicles dry right up on him. I wouldn’t wanna be accused of makin’ my Prince’s testicles go and do that would I?” 

“My testicles are just fine, thank you for thinking about me,” Dean said, in a decidedly displeased tone. He ate a few more spoonfuls of his soup, then motioned for it to be cleared away. 

The servants started to bring him his second course.

“Did you enjoy your studies?” Dean asked, wondering how Sam would find a way to take what he said as an insult. “Marigold and Dre are great tutors.”

Sam lifted his gaze from watching the servant clear away both the soup bowls and the small plate he’d used to keep his bread on, now that it was gone. He nodded to Dean’s question. 

“Yeah, it was... informative... interesting,” he replied, still nodding. “I guess you didn’t enjoy yours though,” he remarked pointedly. 

“Would you prefer it if I said nothing?” Dean grit his teeth. “It might be a little more difficult for you to find something to criticize, but only a tad. I guess you might hate the way I breathe or, I don’t know, fault the way I hold my silverware.” 

It wasn’t fair. Sam sitting there, looking that desirable and yet clearly disinterested. No, it was worse than just disinterested, he was combative. “You know I’ve had more civil conversations with enemies sitting across the table from me.” 

Sam stared across the table at Dean, his eyes tightening into slits the longer Dean went on. “Well maybe that’s because after they asked you not to, you didn’t whip your pecker out for the masses to slurp up everything you had to offer in exchange for pretty little baubles,” Sam retorted indignantly. 

“Whip my... Huh.” Lifting his napkin, he wiped his mouth as he ran Sam’s words through his head again. “You’re jealous? Jealous of something that hasn’t happened?” he asked, not knowing whether to shake with laughter or anger. “See this... this is a perfect example of you getting lathered into a rage over nothing, or rather, over something I haven’t done.”

A servant poured Dean’s wine, while another simultaneously poured a glass for Sam.

Dean lifted his up. “Cheers.”

Sam’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Wait, wait, wait a minute,” he insisted as he held up one hand. “If you didn’t.... you know....then how in the... did they get them?” he asked with a pointed jerk of his head toward the beaded necklaces many of the servants sported. 

“I gave it to them... so they’d leave and not keep offering. Crowley’s got one, but did you see him on his knees?” Dean waited a heartbeat, and then raised his glass to his lips. He needed it, even if Sam didn’t.

Sam’s brow quirked and his head tilted to the side as he sort of stared off not really seeing anything other than the scene in his mind. He started to snicker then actually started laughing. He lifted a hand and covered his mouth, his gaze now on Dean’s face, tears of laughter causing his eyes to glisten in the low light as his shoulders shook. 

Dean’s fingers drummed on the table as he watched Sam come apart for no reason. None that he could fathom, at least. “Do you want to share with the rest of the class what it is you find so damned amusing?” he finally demanded when the laughter seemed to have no end.

Sam forced himself to stop laughing long enough to speak though small snickers escaped as he did so. “I was just picturing you and Crowley doing _that_ ,” he broke into a fit of giggles again before he was able to stifle his laughter and continue, “And I was hearing you bark at him the way you do for every little thing that he does. Plus, who would you say you were going to tell anything to with him there?” 

He broke out into a second round of laughter again nearly falling out of his chair, tears streaming from his eyes, down his cheeks. He sucked in a breath, face a deep beet red from laughing. 

“I’m going to tell Crowley that you need lessons,” Sam mimicked in a voice he felt sounded like Dean. 

“But sire, it is me,” Sam then said in a heavily accented voice like Crowley’s, that sounded even funnier with his drawl. 

“Oh...right...well remind me later to complain to you about how terrible you are,” he mimicked Dean again. 

“Yes, Highness,” he said in his ‘Crowley voice’, then broke into another fit of laughter.

To say he was taken aback was an understatement. Dean did see the funny side of it, and Sam did a good job of mimicking him and Crowley, but he wasn’t certain whether Sam found the thought amusing or was he making fun of Dean. It did seem as if the servants found it amusing, though most of them took the effort to hide it.

“Am I so full of complaints? I did not realize,” Dean said quietly, reaching for his bread roll. His gaze never wavered from Sam’s face.

Sam nodded in answer to Dean’s softly spoken question as he tried to wipe away his tears and stop laughing. His laughter however died away completely at the idea that perhaps he’d hurt Dean’s feelings. 

He shook his head with a heavy sigh, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give offense,” he offered. “But you two _do_ sound like that, and Crowley even told me that you call his name...” he paused and lowered his voice, “Well, you know what he told me,” he murmured softly, dropping his gaze to the table. “Really, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine. I don’t have any feelings.” Dean ate in silence for a while. It was hard to gage Sam’s mood or know when he was serious or joking, and it was twice as hard when he was clear across the other side of the room. 

At Dean’s remark, Sam felt even worse. Placing an elbow on the table and resting his face on his hand, he held the fork with his other hand and toyed with the food on his plate. Maybe it was best for him to just keep his stupid mouth shut. 

Unhappy with what he was offered as a third course, Dean refused it. “Bring something else.”

“Yes, Highness.” 

His gaze flicked up to Sam’s, and still, neither of them had anything to say. 

Crowley suddenly came in. “Did someone die while I was away?” He demanded. “What is this?” He gestured toward Sam. “You two look like you’re on different planets and it’s not very conducive to nesting, is it now?”

 _Maybe we’re still planets apart,_ Sam thought with yet another forlorn sigh. 

“Lisle, Albert, move Sam’s place setting over there,” he said pointing next to Dean. “Go on.”

Lisle pulled the napkin off Sam’s lap.

“And there’s no need to go polishing it, either. I heard what you and your sister were up to in the dungeons,” Crowley said. 

Sam gasped and jumped again when Lisle again reached into his lap, his eyes widening and darting from Lisle to Dean then to Crowley before his brow furrowed with confused curiosity. “Polishing what?” he asked with a naive tilt of his head.   
“ _IT_. I did offer you a medallion to keep you aroused,” Crowley pointed out as he marched Sam down to Dean’s end of the table.

Sam blushed so deeply that his face matched his shirt. 

Dean stood up again but his gaze dropped to Sam’s groin. A short laugh escaped him. “You offered him that and he didn’t throw you out the window. He really must like you.”

“Well he’s wearing the other medallion, so he must really like you,” Crowley countered, seating Sam. “And how are the perky nipples doing?”

“I wouldn’t know.” But Dean could now see every detail of Sam, which was either a blessing or a curse.

Sam scoffed and turned his head, glaring up at Crowley, “Keep it up and I’m becoming a monk and then _nobody_ is gonna know,” he countered disgustedly as he flopped down in his seat. 

He looked over at Dean and then back up at Crowley, “I don’t hear you offerin’ him a medallion,” he challenged. 

“He doesn’t wear open shirts,” Crowley whispered in Sam’s ear just as Dean’s cup was being refilled.

“Will you drink with me?” Dean asked, looking at Sam’s ever full glass. “If you don’t like the wine, I could order Crowley to have the master winemaker punished or schooled.” He didn’t crack a smile, but he was attempting to make a joke or carry the one Sam had started forward.

A grin tugged at the corner of Sam’s lips and he gave a soft, tentative chuckle, glancing at Crowley almost as if to check and make sure it was alright to laugh. Returning his gaze to Dean he cleared his throat, his eyes flicking between Dean’s and the cups. 

“Um,” he began only to tilt his head curiously as a whole other thought occurred to him. “Do you even know how old I am?” he asked. “I’m going to be eighteen in May, as you know ’cause you know my birthday. So before here, I never really had wine. I tasted this old man’s moonshine once,” he said, making a disgusted face, nose wrinkling, “But,” he shook his head, “I haven’t ever had wine. Of course that’s probably partly because my Ma and Pa couldn’t afford somethin’ like that anyway, but even the ale and other drinks available at the saloons,” he shook his head, “I’d never tasted any of it. My Pa always said that liquor was a man’s first step into the grave anyway.” 

“I think this will taste better than... moonshine.” Dean wasn’t sure what moonshine was, but the disgust on Sam’s face was enough to convince him it was nothing good. “I ordered a sweet wine for you.”

“I could have a nice round of Magdalenas brought in,” Crowley offered. “It’ll lift the spirits,” his palms raised, he gestured, “and other mores _exciting_ parts of the anatomy.”

Dean chuckled but knew Sam wouldn’t go for it. 

Sam frowned at Crowley, “You’re not helping.” Returning his attention to Dean, he relented, “Okay, but if it sends me to the grave, it’ll be all your fault.” 

“Only place it’ll send you is into my--” Dean clamped his mouth shut. “I promise, you won’t go to your grave. Not yesterday. Not today, and not tomorrow.”

“Finally, hearts and butterflies. I’ll have the drinks brought in,” Crowley said, moving to the door to order a servant to the wine cellar.

Sam scoffed softly and glowered at Crowley, before leaning closer to Dean and whispering softly, “He’s being an arse.” 

Dean laughed and ran his hand over his face, shaking his head. “Now you notice. Finally.”

Crowley glanced back at the pair, but continued his discussions with the servants.

“Do you enjoy riding?” Dean asked Sam, out of the blue. He imagined racing Sam and could practically hear the boy laughing. 

Sam’s eyes lit up, “Oh yeah, I love it. My Pa got me my own horse for my sixteenth birthday. He said that every man should have a horse of his own, so he saved up forever, and then he let me pick one out. I got a black one with a white star on his forehead, and I named him Midnight. Pa always used to tease me about buyin’ him back from me so he could to hitch him to the wagon,” he chuckled. “I told him he could but he said, nah, that Midnight was meant to be a one man horse,” he explained with a sage nod. 

“Your Pa makes some good points. Why don’t we go to the stables after dinner, pick one out for you? It’ll be all yours, and we can go riding tomorrow,” he said, both anxious and pleased that he’d managed to bring a spark to Sam’s eyes. 

Sam’s eyes went wide as saucers, “Really!?” he exclaimed excitedly, “Do you mean it!?” He suddenly shot to his feet and all but lunged himself into Dean’s arms, hugging him tightly, a wide, happy smile curving his lips and causing dimples to dent his cheeks. “Thank you,” he murmured, the words muffled against Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean’s mouth dropped open. A little belatedly, he put his arms around Sam and held him close, patting his back. “And here I thought the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. You’re welcome,” he answered, smiling back. 

It was a real smile. As real as the ones he’d been flashing before their fight. “If you’d asked... I would have given you one sooner.” Dipping his face down, he kissed the top of Sam’s head, his mouth brushing over silky hair. He’d bet Sam’s hair would fly across his face and behind him as they rode. “Do you want to forget the meal? Go right away?”

Sam pulled his head back, though his arms remained around Dean, his wide smile seemingly ingrained on his face. “Can we?” he asked, before pulling to his feet. He reached for one of Dean’s hands and all but began to drag Dean from the table. 

“Crowley! Crowley! We’re gonna go riding! We’ll eat when we get back!” he called out, then glanced at Dean before looking back and correcting himself, “Well, okay tomorrow we’re riding, but I’m going to find my horse!” 

He turned back to Dean with an excited near giggle as he tugged at his hand, “Come on, let’s go!” 

Seeing all the beaming faces staring at him or nodding, with some of the servants practically clapping with joy, Dean rolled his eyes at them. “Yeah, let’s. get outta here, before we get more ‘hearts and roses’ comments.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://s1114.photobucket.com/user/virtualpersonal/media/story%20art/Fairytale%20day_zpsaxcjkpjc.jpg.html)

It was cool and windy. Dean pulled Sam close as they crossed the courtyard and went through a short tunnel that lead to detached buildings that were part of the castle. 

When they reached the stables, Dean swept Sam inside.

Immediately, several stable hands lined up. Before Dean even had a chance to tell them what he wanted, all three men dropped to their knees and offered him blow jobs.

Sam’s eyes widened at the fact that the offers were made with him standing _right there_ , as if it were nothing out of the ordinary for these people to simply.... do _that_! He sighed heavily and looked away in an attempt to not hear any more of this kind of talk as he felt more than a little awkward over it. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Ah, not necessary,” he said, digging into the pocket lining of his cloak and pulling out necklaces for each of them. As the men rose to their feet, he looked over at Sam. “Remind me to tell Crowley to let it be known that my dick’s taken.” 

Sam found himself turning his face toward Dean, a slightly smug and perhaps even a little proud smile curving his lips. A bright blush stained Sam’s cheeks. A soft almost giggle broke from his lips as he nodded, “I will.” Naturally, he wasn’t about to do that. It was as Crowley had explained, his Highness often said he’d tell Crowley this or that, speaking his name without ever going through with what he’d declared. 

Flashing Sam a grin, Dean turned to the stable hands. “Gentlemen, we’re here to select a horse for Sam. I think something spirited, but not too wild,” he said, glancing at Sam for confirmation. “A young horse, one he can train to suit his needs. Oh, was Sebastian bred this year?”

“Aye, he sired several mares and a stallion.”

“Bring them out,” he said, and turned to Sam. “Sebastian is a beauty. Shiny black coat. A bit of an attitude. Would have been a good match for you in his heyday, so let’s take a look at his legacy.”

A bevy of servants invaded the stables, bringing chairs and a small table on which they placed some bread and cheeses, and the Magdalenas. 

Sam nodded and turned his attention to the horses that were being walked in front of them. His gaze swept over the mares and then the stallion, a black beauty with white dots near his rump, caught Sam’s eye.

“Stop.” Taking Sam’s hand, Dean walked him to the horse. “Take your time. They can tie the horses that are in the running to the post over there. 

“This one’s called Shield, Master Sam. Got nice long strides and is a smooth ride. Nice and tall, for someone like you,” the stable hand said, patting the horse’s neck. 

Sam looked the horse over, then walked in front of it and pried its lips back to see his teeth. He moved his hand over various parts of its body, measuring him up, then patted its neck. “I like this one,” he murmured with a glance at Dean, “Can we tie him over there?” 

Dean gave a nod. “Next.”

A few more horses were brought out. Dean saw Sam’s eyes light up at one of them, but he must have shared Dean’s reservations at the animal’s gate, because he let it walk past them. That told him that the young man had an eye for horseflesh, and it went beyond looking at the animal’s beauty.

A snow white horse was brought out.

“Now she’s a beauty,” Dean said, but he didn’t want to interfere with Sam’s decision. When the horse swished its tail and smacked Dean across his shoulder, the prince quickly changed his tune. “Attitude. Pass,” he suggested, eyeing Sam and knowing damned well his consort would likely be contrary.

Sam’s lips curved into a wide amused grin, “I dunno, I kinda like her,” he retorted with a chuckle at Dean’s expense. 

The white mare was tied to the stake next to the other one in the running, and then the parade of horses continued, Sam looked each one over with the critical eye of one from a time and place where horse flesh was a family’s main stay. 

When a short horse was brought out, Dean started to laugh. “Your feet... dragging on in the snow, leaving marks.... it would be priceless.”

Sam frowned, his brows drawn and forehead creasing, his expression one of mock disgruntlement, though they both knew he was dying to laugh at the jest. 

“I think I like that white one better and better,” Sam mumbled half under his breath as he returned his attention to the next horse being brought out. 

“Oh, I’ll bet you are. And when it rears up and drops you on your ass, I’ll be the one laughing,” Dean promised.

“This one’s young, but a fast learner, aren’t you, Cookie?”

Dean cracked a smile at the thought of Sam with a horse named after a sweet. He wasn’t very surprised when Sam passed on the horse.

Two more horses were tied to the post for Sam to choose from, and then the last horse was brought out. 

Sam inspected the horse then stepped back. As he leaned slightly forward, peering back in the direction that the horses had come in, his brow creased with confused curiosity as he spotted a horse that had yet to be brought out. 

“What’s that one?” Sam inquired, pointing further back in the stables. 

The stable hand waved his hand. “That’s Hercules. Too high spirited so we’re not bringing him out.”

Sam’s brow knitted again, “Hercules? What kind of a name is Hercules?” he inquired and started to tentatively walk toward where the horse was being kept from him. He paused at the threshold and looked back at Dean, “Can I go see him?”

Making a sweeping hand gesture, Dean said, “After you.”

“Please be careful, Master Sam. That one isn’t past giving you a kick in the head for your troubles.” The stable hand rushed after them, passing them to get inside the stall first. When the horse snorted, he approached it more slowly. 

“Do _not_ get kicked in the head,” was Dean’s only order. He could see Sam knew his way around horses and wasn’t going to hover over him. Well, he’d stand close enough to yank him away if necessary. 

Sam nodded as he slowly entered the stall, speaking softly to the animal as he approached. He lifted a hand and gently pet its neck while continuing to whisper soft encouraging words to the horse. After a few moments, he pulled away far enough to speak aloud in his regular voice without spooking the animal. 

It didn’t take Sam much longer before he declared, “This one. I want this one.” 

“Master Sam, Ghost, the white one we set aside, she’s much prettier,” the stable hand said, adding a “begging your pardon,” for Dean’s benefit, since his Highness apparently wasn’t pleased by that horse’s tail swishing etiquette. “Hercules... when he was a colt, he escaped and got tangled in a fence... barbed wire,” he explained. “He’s got scars on the other side--”

“Let’s get Ghost,” Dean suggested, tugging at Sam. 

Sam shook his head and gently pulled his arm away. “I don’t care if he has scars,” he explained. “He can’t help it,” he went on as he walked back to the horse and started to whisper to him again as he stepped up and wrapped an arm around the animal’s neck while looking out at both Dean and the stable hand. “He just needs someone to love him.” 

“Are you sure, he’s the one?” Dean asked, the parallels not having passed over his head. He’d think about them later. “Hercules?”

Sam nodded, “Yeah,” he agreed before pulling his head away from the horse’s neck and turning it to look at the animal. “I can feel it,” he murmured with a soft smile. 

“Then he’s yours.” Dean smiled back, watching Sam and the animal for a long moment. “Please have Hercules stabled next to Tempest. They’ll have to get used to each other.” 

“I’m sure they’ll get along famously.” Even as he spoke, the stable hand didn’t seem very sure, which also had Dean laughing. Of course none of the others got it, but he found it amusing that Sam’s horse was scarred and his own horse was called tempest, which would make a damned suitable name for one Sam Winchester of the planet Earth.

* * * 

Once they’d gotten back to the castle, they were served the remainder of their dinner. Crowley was beaming and smiling so wide at them that Dean kept gesturing for him to cut it out or get the hell out. The man had the gall to pretend he wasn’t getting Dean’s silent orders, and Dean didn’t want to ruin Sam’s mood by ordering his apparently ‘best friend’ out.

They finished their dinner and just as Dean started asking for dessert, Crowley piped in with a helpful, “The staff will bring the chocolate pudding up to your bedroom, highness.”

Dean made a shooing motion, then cleared his throat. “We’ll have it in Sam’s room. Maybe dessert and a nightcap, before I...”

“Retire with a good book? Now that’s imaginative.”

“Shut up, Crowley.” Dean got up and walked behind Sam, pulling his chair out.

“I could have the pipers play outside the door. Some nice romantic music...” Crowley offered.

Pulling to his feet, Sam stepped behind the chair and took Dean’s hand. “I think that Dean and I will just have dessert in our room,” he agreed with Dean. “ _Just_ dessert,” he clarified in case there was any doubt in anyone’s mind as to what exactly he was talking about. 

_Our … room?_ Dean felt his heart skip a beat and was sure he’d heard wrong.

Sam turned his head and looked at Dean, “Is that alright with you?” he asked since everyone in the room seemed to have suddenly gone mute. 

“Absolutely.” He stepped closer to Sam, almost closing his arms around him. “Good. Yeah. Pudding... just dessert,” he said, dropping one hand back down. Tightening his grip on Sam’s hand though, he started to half drag him out of the room. “Race you to our room. Fewer eyes. Less _pressure_ ,” he added, sure Crowley was about to offer more advice. 

Sam chuckled and nodded, “Race,” he agreed easing his hand out of Dean’s. 

“Ready. Set. Go!” Sam said, taking off at a run. 

Dean tried to keep up, which was hard since he’d re-injured his leg. “I could order Crowley to tackle you,” he shouted, rounding a hallway corner and then starting up the wide spiral stairs.

Sam laughed wickedly as he glanced back over his shoulder. “He’d have to catch me first!” 

“He wouldn’t dare disobey,” Dean retorted. Gripping the railing, he helped pull himself up faster, cursing only once. 

“Highness....”

“Highness...”

“Highness!”

“Evening your Highness, would you like a blow...”

“No!” Dean shouted, running down the hall, hard on Sam’s heels. “You’re cheating, you... you’re uncommonly tall.”

Sam stopped dead in his tracks causing Dean to nearly plow into him though, Sam didn’t seem fazed by that. His gaze was locked on the servant who’d offered Dean a blow job. He turned his head toward Dean and mumbled, “I don’t think I’ll ever understand this.” 

“Oh, you will. When it’s your name day.” Spinning Sam around so he was facing the stairs, Dean ran passed him and headed for the large double doors leading to his own chamber suite.

Sam’s shock at hearing what was in store for him on his own name day, if Dean wasn’t pulling his leg, had him in a stupor. That was the only reason that Dean got the best of him. “You’re cheating!” he called after Dean as he took off at a run after him. 

Breathless, Dean stood leaning with his back against the door, polishing his nails on his shirt and making a big act of having gotten there much earlier. “That’s impossible. Princes can’t cheat. They... we make the rules.” 

“Yeah, you make ’em up as you go, which is _cheating_ ,” Sam concluded with a nod before jutting his chin toward the closed door. “We goin’ in?” 

“You, are a sore loser,” Dean said, pointing at him. Turning, he opened the door and nodded for Sam to walk ahead. 

Sam snickered and shook his head as he walked past Dean and into the bedroom, he crossed over to the bed and plopped onto its edge, kicking off his tall boots as he looked up at Dean. “So why do you tie people up?” he inquired, “For sex, I mean...” 

“Variety. Control. Power play.” Dean tried not to show surprise at the question and to tread warily. Usually, their discussions about the dungeon, for one, lead nowhere good. “Pleasure. For everyone involved,” he said. “You like to play hide and seek? I mean when you were younger?”

Sam’s brow creased with confusion at Dean’s answer and a bevy of other questions piled up on his tongue. “Yes,” he allowed hesitantly. “But I don’t see what that has to do with anything. I mean, why would you want to have power over someone you love? Isn’t making love supposed to be about being equal and showing the other person how much you love them?” 

“Don’t they have the concept of ‘taking turns’ on Earth?” Dean asked. “What did you like about hide and seek? The thrill of hiding, of not knowing where the seeker is? Teasing him or her to come out? Didn’t your heart pound because you could hear footsteps, but you didn’t know where they were, or what they’d do next?” He walked across the room and sat down next to Sam. “Whether it’s my tongue in your mouth, or yours in mine... does it make a difference?” he asked, stroking Sam’s face. 

Sam’s brow knitted as he listened to Dean. “I’m...I’m not stupid,” he murmured, “but I don’t understand. And why would you want to share the person you love with everyone else? I mean, it’s supposed to be done behind closed doors...intimate...just you and that special person...” He paused as he thought about it a little more, his tongue darting out to lick across his lips. 

“Would you let me tie you up?” he innocently asked . 

“If you want. What will you do with me then?” Dean asked, his eyes darkening with desire. He tried not to get his hopes up. There was no way Sam was going to want to play any of his games. “And how would you tie me up? With clothes, without? Hands above my head or behind my back?”

Sam’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson as he ducked his head, eyes lowering to the silken sheet covered bed as he gave a one shouldered shrug. “I dunno,” he mumbled. 

“I like to be kissed. Just for the record,” Dean said. “Tied or untied.” His gaze lingered on Sam’s lips, but he made no move to take what he wanted.

“Why?” Sam inquired without making a move to kiss Dean, though his eyes lowered to the plump tender flesh just the same. 

“Why what?” Dean’s lips practically burned under Sam’s scorching gaze. 

Sam’s eyes lifted to Dean’s. “Why me?” he asked hoarsely. “I mean, these people... _your_ people, they know a lot more about how this works than me. Why not one of them? Why is it me...” 

“Cause it just is. Cause I look at you or I think about you and suddenly my heart is racing. Cause there’s something about you that draws me. Even if you _are_ hard to get,” Dean muttered. “I guess at first it was your looks. You’re so damned gorgeous and you don’t even know it. Then it became some of those... other things about you. Way you make me laugh. Way you make me play. Even the way you make me rage,” he said with a snort of disbelief. 

Sam’s lips curved upward into a smile and a soft chuckle bubbled out from between his lips at the last of Dean’s words. He lifted his gaze full of confusion and self-doubt to Dean, searching the depths of his eyes for the truth of what Dean was saying. 

“But... you...you don’t...” he sighed heavily uncertain how to word what was in his head and heart. “I don’t make you happy. Not here,” he said with a glance for the bed they were sitting on. 

“I was very happy, the other night. When you and.. I... you know?” Dean said. “But it’s hard for me, knowing the next day you regret it or.. you’re disgusted by it. It’s hard knowing that I don’t make _you_ happy, here,” he answered, also nodding at the bed. 

Sam frowned, “I never said that. And I’m not _disgusted_ by it. It’s just that I always that you don’t do that with someone unless....” he sighed at having to explain himself over and over. “What makes you think that am disgusted by it? I - I meant what I said that day....” he murmured so quiet he wasn’t totally sure that Dean heard the words though his face flushed brightly all the same. 

“Honestly? Because when we’re intimate, everything is fine. But afterwards, you remember how different you are. You remind me you were taught this or that and I can see you just pulling away. Or holding my past... my lifestyle... my people’s lifestyle against me, and it’s something... something I can’t help or change. Don’t deny it,” he said, seeing the protest in Sam’s eyes. 

Sam drew in a breath. “I guess it doesn’t mean the same to you as it does me. And until it does, I think maybe we shouldn’t do it anymore.” 

“I see.” Dean eyes searched Sam’s, hoping he’d see a sign that Sam was kidding, but there was no indication of that. The light went out of his own eyes. “Alright.” He got up and tugged on the bell pull, hard. 

Sam waited until Dean released the pull before speaking again, “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “But I don’t want to do it out of love when you’re doing it for....I dunno, sport?” he shook his head. “I don’t want to be what your people laugh at behind their hands when I walk into a room.” 

Dean’s face swung around. He stared at Sam in disbelief and was stunned by his accusations. “That’s a little unfair, to me, and to my people.”

Only the fact that the doors opened and Crowley rolled the dessert trolley inside stopped Dean from saying something he’d regret. “Whiskey.”

“Of course, Highness.” Crowley’s gaze went to Sam. Feeling the tension, he signed. 

“Crowley,” Sam said as he pulled to his feet. “Do the people of this castle talk about me behind my back all the _bloody_ time?”

“Exactly in what regard?” Crowley looked between the two of them.

“In regard to my relationship with Dean,” Sam interjected before Dean had a chance to say anything. 

“Of course. He’s the Prince, his affairs are everyone’s affair. Is there a problem?” Crowley asked. 

“See what I mean!” Sam spat pointedly. 

“Sam believes people laugh at him because he is...” Dean’s gaze shifted to Sam. “Sport. You know what? Never mind. Leave. We’re resolving this between us. Tonight.” A muscle throbbed in Dean’s jaw.

Crowley quickly poured Dean’s drink and poured some steamed milk into a cup meant for Sam. Opening up the pudding bowls, he bowed and backed out of the room, mouthing to Sam, “Don’t bloody fuck this up,” when he reached the door, he added, “Both of you.”

“Hmm?” Dean asked, shaking his head when Crowley merely closed the door.

Dean went to get his whiskey and knocked back quite a bit of it. Then he grabbed the crystal bowl of pudding, and brought it to Sam with a spoon. Once Sam sat back down, he passed the bowl to him, then moved away to sit on a chair. He drank a little more.

Sam quirked a brow as he watched Dean walk. “You’re not having any pudding?” 

“Guess I lost my appetite.” Dean leaned back and focused on Sam, then on his glass, staring at the amber liquid. “You’re not sport. You’ve never been sport. If you have anything to do with me, unless I order every wagging tongue cut off, people will talk, they’ll speculate, that’s how it is. It’s how it has always been, and will always be. Aren’t there people like that on your Earth? Famous? If you _really_ can’t take that, then...” he shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing.”

“I dunno about famous, but the Carlisle’s, who own the mercantile, everyone talks about them. Ma and Pa knew they were getting a divorce even before their kids knew cause they were all grown and moved away.” He got up off the bed.

Dean knocked back the rest of his drink. “When I saw you... when I saw that _thing_ … those things dragging your body, when I thought you were dead, I would have done anything to trade places with you. To bring you back. So don’t. You. Dare. Tell me that I don’t care for you. I care enough that I was going to send you home even when I know with every cell in my body, every fiber of my being, things will never be the same. That I will _never_ be happy again,” he lifted his index finger off the glass he was still holding, gesturing as if he was pointing. 

Reaching Dean, Sam kneeled in front of Dean and tentatively took his hand, sandwiching it between his own. “I didn’t want to go, not really. Not deep down. I - I think that if...I … if we were at my home...” he gave a small chuckle and shook his head, “Well, maybe not home since they’d all think we were goin’ ta hell for it, but somewhere special...private...I think that maybe those feelings...” he pressed his lips together and sighed. “Why do you think I wanted to be the one to take care of you when you hurt your leg? And why do you suppose I was so hurt when you said what you did to me the mornin’ after we....?” he cocked his head to the side. 

“I don’t know. You wanted to be able to boss me around when I was out of it?” Dean asked, a little humor flashing through his despair. 

“Not even close,” Sam murmured gently. 

“...And I still don’t know _how_ I hurt you,” Dean said. “One minute I was talking about getting Crowley to use a little oil on your chest, cause you look damned hot when you’re all wet. The next, I’m the monster in the dungeon. I’m tired Sam,” he looked down at the boy on his knees, even now teasing him and not knowing it. “Tired of trying to figure out what will make you happy and what will piss you off. Of walking on eggshells, and even then... One minute I’m on a high, then the next it’s like it’s hopeless. Is it? Hopeless?” he asked, wanting a final, a concrete answer.

“I’ve told you. It was...well it was everything. What you said...you never said oil. You lead me to believe other things. You mentioned that place... and then you said...” he pressed his lips together and hung his head. “I haven’t had as many lovers as you have. Heck, I haven’t had _any_ and... I know that I - I don’t meet your expectations in that regard. But I warned you...I told you that I couldn’t... and you said...” he cringed a little, his cheeks reddening. “I didn’t want you to tell anyone...I was embarrassed enough that it happened at all. I didn’t mean to...” he turned his head and blinked back the tears of shame that stung the corners of his eyes.

He sniffled softly and swallowed hard before lifting his gaze back to Dean’s. “What...why did you come for me? You saw how I lived, you saw me, the way that I am, so different from you and your people, why?” he shook his head. “I want so much to fit in here...more than that, I want you to...” he gave a harsh laugh and lowered his gaze again as he shook his head. “I want you to be proud of me,” he finished, lifting his gaze back to Dean’s. 

“I fucked up your life, didn’t I?” Dean pulled his gaze away for a moment, then returned it to Sam. “For that, I’m sorry. I did see it all, everything you said. How you lived, what you were like. But I saw you and I... I wanted you. I told myself it was crazy, that it wasn’t a good idea. In the end... the selfish bastard in me won out. I came and got you.” Noticing the tears sparkling in Sam’s eyes, he felt his own eyes mist. “Are you breaking up with me again?” he asked, knowing it would be the final time. 

Sam chuckled softly and shook his head, “No,” he replied softly, “I don’t think so. I think...I think what I’m asking is that we try again...” Sam caught his bottom lip between his teeth and worried it as he thought. “I know that we think differently, but...if you hurt me...I’ll tell you...but you have to listen to me. And...well, promise me that my...” he cleared his throat and his face turned as red as a beet, “My _shortcomings_ will stay between us. I mean,” he gave a soft slight chuckle, “Crowley did tell me that you always call his name at least a hundred times a day and half the time you don’t mean it, but...” he shrugged a shoulder. “I’m trying...I don’t...some of the things here I know I’ll never agree with. Like the public sex thing, but... the rest...” he shrugged again, “We’ll see...” 

Dean didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated. “Only if you promise to _stop_ imagining I think you even have a shortcoming! I keep telling you, I don’t. I never said that, ever,” he was adamant. 

Sam frowned skeptically, but didn’t argue. “So...what do we do now?” 

Dean’s gaze flicked to the bed, then back to Sam. “You have your pudding, I drink my whiskey,” he lifted his empty glass. “I walk you to your room, maybe I get a kiss. Then I see you at breakfast.” It was the opposite of what he wanted, what he thought they needed. But it was old fashioned, like Sam. Even if Sam had called his room ‘theirs,’ it was really clear he hadn’t meant the bed.

Sam nodded and offered a warm soft smile, “Okay,” he murmured softly before pulling up to his full height. He paused after he’d turned back toward the bed and looked down at Dean, “Come sit with me?” he asked. 

“Alright.” Reaching out, Dean ran his hands up the sides of Sam’s legs, held him like that for a moment, and then stood up. “I’ll be right there,” he said, heading for the tray to pour himself another drink. “So what do you think it would be like. If you’d kidnapped me and taken me home?” he asked.

Sam looked back at Dean after having crossed over to the bed and climbed on with his bowl of pudding. He chuckled and shook his head, “Probably a lot different,” he said. “I don’t think you’d like it there much.” His eyes narrowed as he stared off thoughtfully before shaking his head and looking back at Dean. “Or did you mean like...” he shrugged a shoulder, “If it were my time, but my own house...without anyone else around?” 

“I don’t think your father would like me much,” Dean chuckled. Walking over, he got on the bed next to Sam. “Yeah, alone, your place. In the woods, if you like. Course I don’t know why you’d kidnap me to begin with. Let’s pretend I’m devastatingly handsome and you couldn’t help yourself,” he suggested, trying hard not to notice how Sam licked the spoon clean.

“Mmmmmm,” Sam hummed. His gaze slid to Dean “Well,” he began, “For one thing, if I kidnapped you and we were out in the woods, no one would ever find you again because I know where the best places are to hide and to build a home. You’d have to learn to work. “No more calling Crowley to do things for you,” he teased. “And since I’d be a bachelor and have only one room, you’d probably either have to sleep with me or on the floor by my bed so that you could stay warm by the fire,” he mused. “Winters get awful bad where I’m from,” he said with a sage nod. “As cold as out there,” he added with a glance toward the door to the bedroom window. 

“First of all, I’d definitely choose your bed. Second, I think you’d get to learn to hear the sound of... ‘Sam! Sam! Sam--.” He said, smirking as he emulating the exact tone he used to call Crowley. “And third... I do _work_.”

A soft chuckle broke from Sam. “I don’t think you can count having sex with everyone in your kingdom _work_ , even if you are tired afterward,” he added with a soft giggle. 

“Tired, my ass.” Dean gave Sam a mock glare at the jokes about his manhood. Course, he couldn’t even boast about his stamina or he’d be in hot water. “And what kind of work would you set me to?”

“Well, there’s tending the horses, the cows...you gotta milk them. And the chickens, take their eggs, which they don’t like. There’s working on the land. Hunting for food, and if we’re lucky I’d have a job nearby so you’d have to do all that while I was gone,” Sam explained. 

“Right. Makes sense.” Dean was silent for a moment, then he looked at Sam. “And then what? I mean what would we do for fun? How’d we spend our evenings together?” He had a few thoughts on that, even ones that didn’t involve silk scarves and ropes.

Sam shook his head. “There’s not much to do that’s _fun_. There’s a lotta hard work and then it’s bedtime and you get up before the chickens the next day and do it all over again. Best times are when you gotta go into town for something. Clothes, shoes,” he gave a shrug, “Stuff like that since I can’t sew and well...” he allowed his thought to trail off as his lips curved into a wide smile of amusement at the idea of Dean sewing. He cleared his throat, “At night,” he shrugged a shoulder, “I guess if we weren’t already dead tired and wantin’ to sleep we could sip tea on the porch and talk. Or on Sundays, when you can’t work, it’s the Lord ’s Day, we could go for walks and talk...hold hands and maybe steal a kiss from each other.” 

Dean was starting to wonder how humans managed to populate the earth if even hand holding and kissing was risqué. “Couldn’t we do it all the time? The kissing and the handholding? We could only do that once a week?”

Sam chuckled, “When did ya wanna hold it, while I’m muckin’ out stalls or while you’re milkin’ cows?” 

Dean wasn’t amused. Setting his glass down, he got up and started to strip his shirt off. “It’s getting late and we’re meeting in the stables in the morning. “I’ll walk you to your room when you’re done with dessert.” 

Sam’s smile fell away and his brow creased as he frowned, blinking at Dean in confusion. “Did I say something wrong?” 

“No. You’re just telling it as it is. I’m just tired.” And he had a lot to think on. “You must be too.” He undid his pants, then stopped and put his hand out for Sam’s. 

Sam rose hesitantly to his feet and set the bowl down on the nightstand and reached for Dean’s hand, holding it firmly within his own. He stared at Dean for a long moment before his gaze lowered to the man’s injured leg, brow creasing thoughtfully. “You hurt your leg again.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I’ll live. It’s not as bad as the last time.” Something passed between them, Dean wasn’t sure what it was, but he squeezed Sam’s hand. “I’m fine or you’d have seen the doctor and the guards at my door. They’re always around for deathwatch duty.” 

Sam shook his head, “I know you’re joking, but that’s not funny,” he responded quickly. “I don’t wanna think about you dying,” he murmured before looking away, toward the door. 

“Well I’m not planning on dying so problem solved.” Taking the hint, Dean started to walk to the door, still holding Sam’s hand. He wanted to pull Sam close. He wanted to push him up against the door and kiss him, strip him out of his clothes and make love to him until Sam admitted this was right, that it was good, that it wasn’t something to be hidden and doled out in one or two kisses once a week. Instead, he crossed the room and stopped at the door adjoining Sam’s room. He gave Sam a chaste kiss on the cheek, as if he was bidding goodnight to a child .

Sam reached for Dean’s waist with both hands, gently holding him in place as he leaned back against the door to his room. “I think it’d be okay if you gave me a real kiss,” he offered softly. 

Dean didn’t answer. He brushed his lips across Sam’s and put his hand on Sam’s hips, turning him slightly and pulling him up hard against his frame. Just like that, his heart was racing. His blood was rushing through his veins. His body, reacting to Sam’s nearness.

One thought, just one thought about how Sam had sucked on that spoon earlier, his cheeks hollowing out as he made soft sounds of pleasure, and Dean was bringing his mouth down hard over Sam’s and taking the kiss he’d offered. Dean pushed his tongue past Sam’s sweet lips and probed every corner of his mouth, telling himself that if this was all he was to have tonight, he’d make damned sure that he wasn’t the only one going to bed with an aching cock. 

A startled groan broke from Sam’s throat, his eyes widening before slipping closed as his body relaxed into the kiss. Slumping against Dean, he wrapped his own arms tightly around the man kissing him. His tongue tangled with Dean’s, mapping out the man’s mouth languidly. His heart began to race as another long low moan was torn from his throat when Dean deepened the kiss, his head sliding from side to side as he devoured Sam’s mouth. Sam let him, eagerly allowing Dean to ravish his mouth, despite the voice in his head that told him it wasn’t proper, that it wasn’t right. To hell with those voices, this place, this _planet_ didn’t hear those voices, and for just this moment, neither did Sam. 

Sensing the lack of resistance, Dean raised the heat up a notch or two. He pressed Sam up against the door and pulsed against him in a rhythm Sam’s body would recognize and which would send messages straight to his cock. Between kisses, he whispered to Sam. “So sweet. So delicious. A feast for a starving man.” When he felt Sam’s cock start to fill and thicken, he gave a low groan and started to thrust lightly, sometimes pausing, giving Sam the chance to miss the press of his body, to move restlessly against him. 

A soft strangled whimper broke from Sam’s throat and he finally had to pull back, tearing his lips away from Dean’s, his chest heaving with his panted breaths as he stared dazedly at Dean. His face was flushed though not from embarrassment. His tongue darted out, licking the taste of Dean’s mouth from his lips as he continued to gaze hungrily at Dean, not knowing what to do or where they should go from here. 

Breathing hard, Dean searched Sam’s face. He could tell he’d gotten to Sam, that Sam was just as aroused as Dean was. “Between cow milkings. After the cleaning of the stables. At dawn. All night. _That’s_ when I’d want to do this... handholding,” Dean whispered, lifting a hand and cupping the back of Sam’s head as he brought his mouth down over Sam’s once again in a fierce, possessive kiss.

When he allowed Sam to step away from him, his entire body was vibrating with need. “Goodnight. Sam. Dream of me. I’ll surely dream of only you,” he promised, taking Sam’s hand and leaving a hot, wet trail of kisses across his palm. 

Sam’s breath hitched and his cock pulsed, pressing insistently against the tight leather fabric of his pants. His gaze lowered to his hand as Dean all but made love to it with his mouth. His gaze lifted once more as Dean released his hand and stepped away. “Scandalous,” he whispered under his breath, dumbfounded by what had just happened. 

“Scandalous dream? Okay then. G’night,” Dean whispered again, taking a few steps away, then turning around and leaving Sam still standing in front of his door.

* * * 

Sam stretched and yawned as his lashes fluttered, eyes cracking open to mere slits at the sounds of hustle and bustle just outside his room. Outside his room? Crap! Sam’s eyes popped open wide as he realized that he’d nearly slept the day away after having tossed and turned all night, unable to get Dean out of his mind. 

He scurried out of bed and over to the closet, searching it for something that would be suitable to wear while riding, that is if he hadn’t slept too late and Dean still wanted to go. Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he dressed quickly, foregoing a shower or long hot bath in favor of getting down the stairs and out to his new horse. He’d wound up dressing in what Crowley had referred to as jeans and miraculously found a deep red button shirt that buttoned all the way up. 

Rushing out of the room, he took the steps two at a time. 

“Right, there you are,” Crowley said, chasing to chat up and walking down the stairs in step with Sam. “His Highness said to tell you that after you’ve had your milk bath and massage, and smelled the flowers and had some bread and butter... etc.... _ad nauseum_...” he waved his hand, “To come and get him from the study, where’s he’s been up and _working_ for hours and hours. Does any of this make sense to you? Because it makes no bloody sense to me.”

Sam stopped mid stride. “Milk bath? Hours and hours?” he echoed initially with confusion but then last night’s conversation hit him. His lips parted, as laughter bubbled out from between them. He started to descend again. “He thinks to impress me with his bookkeeping,” he deduced. “That’s not the work of a man, that’s women's work. Keeping tabs on the household and cooking.” 

“Men’s work... women’s work... how quaint.” Crowley laughed. “Course his highness is drawing up plans for next year’s crops. For everyone within the castle walls. I think he was joking about the milk bath. Although, it does make your skin soft. After your ride, I’ll have a milk bath drawn for you,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Maybe a honey milk bath, I’ll bet His Highness would like to dry you up afterwards.”

Sam looked over at Crowley as they reached the bottom of the stairs, “Honey and milk bath?” he inquired. “Sounds like somethin’ for women. Men are supposed to smell like they’ve worked.” 

“Right then, after your ride, I’ll have you join the farming group. Do make sure his Highness knows it wasn’t my idea. Oh, that might be rather fun to watch. Especially if you were shirtless. Maybe I will own up to the idea after all.” Crowley grinned at the thought. When they reached the front door, he stopped Sam and motioned to a servant who brought a glass of steamed milk for Sam. “I won’t say it. Won’t say milk’s for children,” Crowley promised, his eyes gleaming.

Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes at everything Crowley said. “Don’t want any, thanks,” he told the servant, anxious to go out and see Hercules. 

“Send for his Highness,” Crowley started to tell a servant when the man answered.

“He’s already off to the stables.”

That had Sam taking off out of the front doors.

“Is there a lion after our ass? Why are we running a bloody marathon?” Crowley demanded.

Sam snickered, “Running is good for you. Fun.” 

“Fun. Yes. I’m having lots of it.” 

People moved out of their way, some giving them strange looks.

“Just wonderful. I’ll bet half of them think we’re in a rush to have sex,” Crowley muttered. 

Sam turned wide shocked eyes toward Crowley before he suddenly burst into laughter which in turn caused his steps to slow into a mere jog as he continued to laugh. 

“What’s so funny? You don’t think I have my share of urgent running for a quick shag?” Crowley demanded. 

Sam snorted as he struggled to stifle his laughter. “No, it’s not that,” he laughed, “I just had a thought...” he snickered and doubled over with laughter before straightening, his face flushed and eyes glistening with tears. “I wondered...I wondered if you...if you call out Dean’s name like he does yours,” he panted between bouts of the giggles. 

Crowley came to a dead stop. “His highness calls out my name during sex?”

Dean walked out of the stables and crossed his arms. “I certainly do not. Is Sam telling tall tales?”

Sam shook his head. “No,” he gasped before another fit of laughter, his hand reaching out and landing on Crowley’s shoulder. “Not then... mean after...” he wheezed. “Oh I’m going to tell _Crowley_ that you need to be... _whatever_ ,” he mimicked in a voice that was supposed to be Dean’s, that is until the last word which sounded more like a squeak when he couldn’t hold in the laughter. 

“Cleaned? Freshened up? Rested for round two?” Crowley suggested, without missing a beat.

“Did you put liquor in his milk?” Dean demanded, “Sam, are you fit to ride?” He wouldn’t admit that he hated feeling of being left out of the joke, which was the case more often than not, when Sam got together with his friends.

“Stop,” Sam wheezed. “Stop...can’t breathe...” he complained clutching his stomach. Eventually, he cleared his throat and fought to stifle his laughter, giving Dean a nod. His lips curved into a cocky smile, “Can out ride you,” he stated as a fact. 

“Not if you’re... you’re laughing at Crowley. You do know he’s not that funny?” Looking over his shoulder, Dean snapped an order to the groom who lead the two horses out of the stables for them.

“Crowley, make yourself useful. Give Sam a hand mounting. If he falls or scrapes himself....”

“I know, I know, it’s my job.” Crowley was trying to stop laughing but it was impossible. “It’s not my fault, he’s... well he’s the one’s making me laugh, isn’t he?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean patted his horse’s neck, then gracefully mounted her back. 

Sam shrugged off Crowley’s attempts to help him mount. “Nah, I got this,” he said, easily swinging a leg over the horse and sitting up in the saddle. He snapped a loud, “Heya,” and took off across the field on Hercules’ back, leaving Dean, Tempest and Crowley in the dust. 

“He’s going to be the death of me,” Dean said, tugging on the reins.

“Me too,” Crowley agreed. “Well go on, go get him.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean dug his heels into his horse’s sides.

Racing after Sam, Dean jumped the low stone fence that separated the fields. “Come on Tempest, we gotta catch up to your namesake,” he said, leaning forward and galloping single mindedly towards his goal.

Hearing the thunder of horse’s hoofs behind him, Sam ducked low on Hercules and murmured endearments in his ear, urging him onward faster. He glanced back over his shoulder at Dean and saw him gaining on them. Grinning broadly, he shouted, “Ha!”

Urging his horse on, Dean rode harder until he was only a half a horse length behind Sam. Then they were riding neck to neck, egging each other on and shouting into the wind. It had been years, perhaps decades, since he’d played catch on horseback.


	15. Chapter 15

An hour later, they’d ridden the length of the field several times, then gone through town and created a stir, causing people to jump out of their way or point and shout. Now, they were back in the fields and Dean was showing off his showmanship skills.

One arm above his head, he pulled on the reins and pressed his knees into Tempest’s sides as he gave an order. The horse started to back up, lifting her front legs high as she danced around in a tight circle. Dean made a clicking sound and she neighed, raising both her front legs off the ground... “Tell me she’s not a beauty,” he said, illustrating several more moves. 

Sam grinned and clapped at the various maneuvers. It was good seeing Dean had more than one passion in life. Really good.

.“Yeah, she’s great,” Sam agreed. “Lemme see if I can get this one to let me do a few things,” he murmured almost to himself as he made kissing sounds and pressed his heels into Hercules’ sides to get him open more distance between the two horses. 

Sam stood up in the saddle and sat back down a couple times. Then he leaned forward and whispered words into the horse’s ear before sitting back and gave Dean a nod. “I think he’s up for it.” 

Turning his attention back to Hercules, Sam dug his heels into the horse’s sides and flicked the reins, urging him into a hard gallop. Pulling on leg out of the stirrup, Sam stood and gave a hop, managing to get his feet onto the saddle and straightening. Standing on the saddle, the only thing holding him in place was his balance and the reins that he kept a tight grip on as the horse thundered across the field.

“Whoa!” Dean’s heart leapt to his throat, but he managed to keep from riding after Sam once he saw that Sam was in control. It didn’t stop him from tightening his grip on the edge of his saddle though, nor from holding his breath as Sam’s horse galloped faster and faster.

Dean wasn’t the only onlooker. Very soon, there were people gathered around the edges of the field, or standing on the stone walls separating one field from another.

Sam was oblivious to anyone watching, his entire focus was on his horse and what he was doing. Carefully urging Hercules on and keeping a tight control of the reins so the horse knew exactly where to go. He slowly lowered onto one knee, the foot of his other leg hooking into the stirrup as Hercules raced straight toward some sort of ramp that lead up a stone wall that separated them from the frozen wasteland. Sam leaned down a little more toward Hercules’ mane though he remained on one knee. “Come on, boy,” Sam called encouragingly to his horse. “You can do it.” 

“No, Sam, No!” Dean’s shouts were scattered to the winds as Sam took the twelve foot wall by having Hercules first run up a ramp that was being used to build a structure. “Sonova--”

Digging his heels into the sides of his horse, Dean took off after Sam, leaning and swooping up the sword that Crowley, who’d materialized out of nowhere, held up for him. Following Sam’s exact route, he raced Tempest up the ramp and jumped her over the protective wall, not knowing what he’d find on the other side.

Sam’s smile was brilliant as Hercules landed gracefully on the other side. He allowed him to run a bit forward before turning him back, to head for the gates. That was when his smile melted away upon seeing Dean’s stormy gaze as the prince bore down on him. 

Reaching Sam, and seeing he was reseated in the saddle, Dean grabbed his reins and forced Hercules to race along the wall toward the castle gates. There were no wraiths in sight right now, but that wasn’t the damned point.

The castle doors were raised as they neared, and Dean didn’t stop until they’d ridden through town to the castle and stopped in front of the stables.

He dismounted and tossed his sword to a servant, then looked at Sam. “Do you see that tower?” he demanded, pointing at the highest tower in the castle. “The _next_ time you go beyond the castle wall, I am locking you in there. You got that? Don’t test me,” he all but yelled, before turning on his heels and leaving Sam behind.

Sam knew he was in trouble the moment that Dean snapped up the reins of his horse. He opened his mouth to argue, to ask what he’d done wrong, but if he were honest, he already knew. Still, after his gaze flicked to the tower, he pressed his lips into a thin line and his eyes tightened into defiant slits as he watched the Prince stride back to the castle alone.

Dismounting, Sam muttered under his breath about how he’d intended to come right back and hadn’t gotten into any real danger. But one look in the direction of the wall had Sam’s arms pricking with goosebumps and a chill running down his back at the memory of exactly _what_ was out there. 

*

“Crowley!” Dean called out.

Crowley came running, nodding at Sam who was also in the hallway, following Dean. “Something for your blood pressure, Highness?” He asked.

“You’re not funny. Whiskey.”

“It’s before breakfast....”

“Fine. A bloody Mary and make it snappy.” Dean stalked into the small salon where a nice breakfast had been set out for him and Sam, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to enjoy it.

Sam followed after Dean, though he ducked his head as he spoke, “I was coming back,” he offered. 

“In one piece? Two? Ten pieces? Or maybe there would have been nothing left of you. You’ve seen those things. You don’t know how to deal with them. Why do you try my patience?” Dean demanded. “How can I impress on you that you _will not_ go out of those gates, period?” 

Sam sighed, “I wasn’t _going_ out of the gates, I was riding,” he argued halfheartedly. “I’m sorry.” 

“Alright.” Dean was surprised by the apology. He’d expected excuses and protests, and maybe that’s why he accepted the apology so quickly. “You haven’t seen them, the way they come out of nowhere,” he said. “I was... I was scared for you.” 

Sam’s head rose along with his gaze and his brow creased a moment before his lips curved into a smile, “You were?” he murmured. 

“What do you think?” Dean asked, his gaze locking with Sam’s.

Sam’s smile grew wider and he ducked his head sheepishly. “Well, okay, other than that,” he dismissed, “What did you think of my riding?” 

“Riding? You call that riding?” Dean started to relax. “I call it magic. I’ve never seen anything like that. Teach me sometime?”

Sam started to frown with the start of Dean’s words, his pride slightly wounded only to have his heart swell with pride and...perhaps... was that love? His lips curved upward into a wide full blown smile that deepened the dimples on his cheeks. He nodded vigorously. “It’s not hard, not really. You just have to... well, ask the horse if it’s willing sort of,” he replied with a shrug of one shoulder. 

“Right.” Dean gave Sam a look that spoke volumes. “I want to learn to ride standing, you can do the talking to Herc about it.” He nodded toward the table. “Hungry?”

Sam quirked a brow at the look Dean shot him but before he could comment, his attention was drawn to the food spread out on the table and his stomach gave an audible growl that had Sam’s cheeks staining a bright crimson as he nodded. “Famished, I guess.” 

Pulling the chair out for Sam and waiting for him to sit, Dean sat next to him, at the head of the small table. His bloody Mary was brought to him and the servants served them tea and coffee, then left at his order. 

“I wanted a simple breakfast so we’d be alone,” Dean explained the lack of servants to Sam. “But if you want anything else...” he nodded to the bell pull.

The _simple breakfast consisted of breads and croissants, and various pastries. There were cold cuts, smoked fish and bacon, tomatoes and that was just the half of it. Course the plate of strawberries and cream had Dean’s mind going to Sam’s first night at the castle. He pulled his gaze away and started to serve himself._

_Sam chuckled at Dean’s words, “Want something else?” he echoed. “This is more food than we’d see all year!” he responded with a shake of his head. “If I eat all this, you’ll have to carry me outta here,” he joked, reaching for the plate filled with breakfast meats._

_“Then, by all means, eat everything. I’ll be glad to carry you.” Visualizing himself carrying Sam off to the dungeons, Dean practically groaned. Apparently he hadn’t gotten enough exercise to tire himself out enough to banish thoughts along those lines._

_Sam snorted and began to shovel in his breakfast, tasting at least one of everything. He turned his head and smiled at Dean as he chewed. When he reached for a strawberry, he dipped it into the cream and first licked the cream off, then dipped it again and popped it into his mouth. Hearing Dean’s distinct groan, his brow creased with worry. “Are you alright?”_

_“Of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t anyone being tortured ten ways from Sunday be alright?” Dean knew the answer to that. Because most people would find satisfaction after the torture of watching their lover play with food, and drive them nuts by licking juice and cream off their fingers and lips. Most people. Not him. Not with Sam, who would probably stalk out of here if he were privy to Dean’s thoughts. His gaze dropped to Sam’s mouth, but he closed his eyes._

_Sam’s brow knitted in further in innocent confusion. “What torture...? Who...?” he began only to pause after each word to take another bit of the berry. The juice coated his lips and dribbled from his lips, leaving a light pink trail down the corner of his mouth to his chin. ._

_Naturally, it was the sight Dean opened his eyes to. Gods, but he wanted to lick the strawberry juice off Sam. Course it wouldn’t stop there. His mouth throbbed as he thought about dragging Sam close and kissing those reddened lips of his. His breaths quickened and grew shallower. Eyes snapping to Sam’s, he wondered just what the hell the boy was thinking, playing with him like this._

_Sam wiped his mouth and cleared his throat nervously at the look in Dean’s eyes. “um, did I do something wrong?” he asked softly._

_“No. It’s just.... You’re... “ Watching Sam’s throat convulse again, Dean felt the blood surge to his cock. “You’re just being you, and I’m being... me,” he muttered, looking up and taking a deep breath._

_Sam tilted his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Dean as he ate. His lips suddenly pulled into a straight line as a thought came to him. “This is about sex, isn’t it?” He accused._

_“No. No!” Dean stood up, “Not at all,” he said, striding to the window and looking outside, telling his body to behave. Course a part of him, the part used to having his way, kept urging to say the hell with it and kiss Sam the way he wanted to._

_Sam’s eyebrows shot up nearly into to his hairline at the bulge that argued plainly against Dean’s words. “Uh-huh, well, you might wanna have the doc take a look at that growth you got goin’ then,” he nodded towards Dean’s groin._

_“No. That _thing_ is perfectly normal, thank you,” Dean answered. “Nothing for you to be _concerned_ about.”_

_Sam looked down at his plate, a knowing smile curving his lips. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed, “but, you know … if you need to leave and...” he paused and looked back at Dean pointedly. “You know, I’ll wait right here for you to come back.”_

_“You want me to... You think I should get a blow job from someone?” It was Dean’s turn to look dumbfounded at Sam’s astounding reversal._

_Sam’s eyes widened, “No,” he gasped. “I meant... y’know, on your own,” he corrected. “Wh-why? Do-do you want to?” he stammered hoarsely._

_It was one of _those questions_ that never had a right answer, so Dean didn’t give one. “Are you offering?” He asked, his voice just as husky, his eyes searching Sam’s. _

_Sam’s lips parted then snapped shut as he stared at Dean unflinchingly. They were on rocky ground here and they both knew it. His tongue darted out, licking the residue of berry juice and cream from his lips as he reached for his napkin and wiped his hands clean._

_“What - what would you say if I was?” he asked tentatively. “Do you...is that what you want me to do? Offer to do what you did to m...” his words trailed off and his cheeks turned a shade red that nearly rivaled the berries. “And if I did, where would you want me to do it?” His gaze searched Dean’s._

_So tempting. It was so damned tempting to take him up on it. Top pull Sam out of his chair. Drive him down to his knees. Make him suck on Dean’s aching dick. Yeah, it made a pretty picture in Dean’s head. But his heart had been sliced too often, too recently. So he didn’t rush to demand what his body wanted. He controlled his response. He explained what he was feeling._

_“I’m hard,” Dean admitted. “Because of the way you were sucking your fingers and...” A groan escaped him. “And yeah, I was thinking of sex. With you. Would I turn down a blow job?” He shook his head, “If you offered, I couldn’t... wouldn’t turn it down.”_

_Dean licked his lips, hardly believing this was him talking. “But I’d be satisfied with anything you _want_ , and I mean really want, to give me. A kiss. A little touching. Or maybe if I sat down and you rode my lap half as hard as you rode Hercules. That was a joke,” he raised his hand, hoping to prevent an argument. “And if you don’t want anything, then yeah... I’ll go get to know my own hand a little better.”_

_Dean’s words pleased Sam. He wasn’t exactly sure why or how, but they made his lips want to curve into a grin and had the twisted knots in his chest loosening. His tongue darted out to lick across his lip. “How... how would I ride your lap like Hercules?” he asked softly. “I - you’ve spoken of us...” he paused and ducked his head as another deep blush infused his cheeks and made its way down his chest. “Of us... and sex but...” he shook his head. “Last time I looked I sort of lack the necessary parts.” Dean couldn’t have missed the fact that Sam didn’t have girl parts, that neither of them did. So how would they..._

_“What? You don’t _lack_ anything.” Dean stared at him for a long moment. “You just... you know... and I... you know. Ah... I’ll get Crowley,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air._

_Sam couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. “I’m not certain if this is one of those ‘calling his name all the bloody time’ deals or not, but if it isn’t, then don’t. You tell me. If this is going to be between us, then I want it to be _just_ between us. Unless of course you’re going to invite Crowley to sit in and take....” What was the word he’d learned just the other day? Oh, right! “...dictation.” _

_Dean ran a hand over his face. “Fathers explain these things to their children. I’m not a father.”_

_Sam’s brows knitted in aggravation. “I know how to have sex,” he cut in. “I mean, I never have but...” his cheeks flushed. “My Pa told me... and I’ve seen animals do it, so...it’s kind’a self-explanatory. “That is, ‘cept when it’s two guys,” he added. “Where do you put....? And where does my....go?”_

_Dean blanched. He had to be the first prince of any realm to have to explain these things... no, perhaps not, but he would still prefer it if Crowley did the teaching here. “Okay, maybe you need to let go of the idea that your thing or my thing go into just one place.” _Dick. Penis. Cock._ Yeah, if he used the words, he was afraid Sam would faint. “You ah... you liked putting your... in my mouth?” he asked, licking his lips again. “Liked how I licked and sucked you, do you remember that?”_

_Maybe if he distracted Sam, there’d be less talking!_

_Sam’s eyes widened as big as saucers and he snapped to his feet, backing up so abruptly that he almost wound up toppling over his chair. He began to shift his weight from one foot to the other, crossing his legs at the knees first with one foot forward, then the other, like someone who was about to piss himself. He crossed his arms over his chest, then pulled them down, then crossed them again. “Um, yeah, can we not talk about that?” he said, turning his head to look anywhere but at Dean._

_“No,” Dean answered thickly, watching Sam like a hawk his gaze lingering over Sam’s cock, searching for more signs that he was at least getting to him. “Because you asked where it goes. Yours goes in my mouth. I think it liked it there. And mine... mine would love to go in yours,” he said, inhaling sharply at the thought._

_“Does yours ache? I mean when you think of being in my mouth?” Dean asked, his eyes innocent of the mischief brewing in his heart._

_Sam shook his head vigorously. “I don’t think of that!” he blurted quickly, eyes wide as though he’d been caught stealing candy from the jar at the mercantile. “I wouldn’t!” he insisted, quickly shifting behind the chair when his traitorous cock began to twitch at the notion._

_“I - I....” he licked his lips and searched the room for something to take the focus off what he might or might not have thought about once in the privy when no one was around. His fingers flexed where they grasped the back of the chair he was hiding behind, clinging to it with a white knuckled grip, “Maybe we should call Crowley,” he suggested with a nod when his gaze found Dean’s once more._

_Watching Sam squirm, Dean knew exactly what he was feeling. “Maybe,” he said, walking across the room, pulling his own chair out and sitting down. “Or maybe you could straddle me, and I’ll show you how to ride. We wouldn’t have to take our clothes off,” he added. “Not a stitch. And neither of us would need a break.” Unconsciously, he lifted his own hips up, his eyes laser focused on Sam._

_Sam’s eyes darted around the room before returning to Dean as he shook his head adamantly. “No. I mean, not here,” he added a little less snappishly. “I - I mean...” he sighed softly and shook his head as he slowly came around the chair he’d been hiding behind and sank down into it next to Dean._

_“The day you ask me to be with you... and only you...where no one will be watching...to want me all to yourself...” Sam mused softly. “It’s the day I would fear for my virginity. Anyway, you should eat. All that liquor isn’t good for you.”_

_“No one is watching us,” Dean answered dejectedly. “We’re as alone as we’ll ever be.” He didn’t understand Sam, and that was a fact. His breakfast remained untouched, as did the drink in his hand._

_Sam paused in picking at the berries on his plate. “So you’re saying that in your bedchamber you lack the authority to make sure that no one enters to watch you bed....me?”_

_“No. No Goddamit. I’m saying there is no one here but you and me and this table. Never mind, eat your breakfast. I don’t want anything,” Dean let out a deep breath. “You don’t have to make excuses for not wanting anything from me. Really.” This time he did take a long drink, draining his glass._

_Sam dropped the berry. “I didn’t mean.... I’m sorry,. I think maybe I should just....go,” he muttered softly._

_“No, don’t bother. Finish your breakfast,” Dean said, getting up. “I have things to do.” He walked past Sam and stopped at the door. “You know, it’s hard for me to believe that even in your world, those who are betrothed don’t... don’t share kisses, or touches. And not because they must, but because they want to.” Once again, doubts were worming their way into his mind. “I’ll see you at dinner.”_

_With that, he opened the door to find the servants grinning hopefully. At the dark look on his face, they sobered and stood straight, letting him pass without questions._

_* * *_

_Sam went in search of Crowley. He found the man in the library, or rather, he found a young thing racing out of the library with Crowley’s chuckle filling the halls behind her._

_He paused at the door and knocked despite the fact that the door was halfway open, not wanting to walk in on his friend when he wasn’t fully put back together. “Can I come in?”_

_“It’s a free principality... or library,” Crowley drawled. “Bloody good ride that was,” he added as Sam crept inside. “Don’t want you to go thinking you and his Highness have the riding market cornered,” he winked, straightening his clothes._

_Sam gave a soft halfhearted chuckle as he plopped down in one of the chairs. “Crowley, I have no idea what I’m doing here,” he sighed. “Dean and I had a good day together, you know, and then I went and ruined it while we were eating breakfast,” he huffed disgustedly, kicking an overstuffed stool with his foot._

_“Did you ask to go for a picnic outside the walls?” Crowley asked. “Or tell him you want a piece of me?” There was a playful light in his eyes._

_Sam couldn’t help the chuckle that fell from his lips or the begrudging smile the curled them. “No. “_

_Crowley quirked a brow, waiting for details._

_“Well, first I asked him.... well... Do you know how two guys...you know....do _it_?” He sighed heavily, “I don’t think Dean does,” he admitted. “I mean, he talked about the thing where I had my tallywhacker in his mouth, but... that’s not really what I meant. And then, he said he was gonna call you again,” he shrugged a shoulder. _

_Crowley tried real hard not to laugh, but soon he was doubled over and shaking uncontrollably. “You told. You told, his Highness, Prince of Castica...lover of lovers, that he doesn’t know where to stick his...” Whooping with laughter, Crowley had to try again. “His dick? Walked out on you, didn’t he?”_

_Sam’s brow knitted, “No, I didn’t tell him that. It was obvious that he didn’t ‘cause he didn’t know how to answer me. He said that he wasn’t a father and so he couldn’t tell me, but that’s what Ma use to say when she didn’t know the answer to things. He said to ask you instead, which, like my Ma, it’s their way of not admittin’ to not knowin’ stuff.” He lowered his gaze to the floor, “Yeah he walked out on me.”_

_Again, Crowley raised his brows.._

_“But not ‘cause I asked him that, it was after that when he wanted me to ride his lap that he walked out. I didn’t really see the point, clothes off or not since he doesn’t have a girl part for me to put my tallywhacker in and I don’t have any girl parts either so… And he was mad ‘cause I wasn’t too happy ‘bout him askin’ me to do that there at the breakfast table. I mean, what if someone walked in and saw us? They’d of looked at us like we were nuts doing that.”_

_“Ah.” Gripping both arms of the chair, Crowley tried harder to keep his laughter in. “Right. Let me assure you, his Highness knows exactly where to put his … his... his _tallywhacker_. Bloody hell, that is a mouthful, isn’t it. Pun!” Slapping himself on the thigh, hard enough to cause himself some pain, Crowley prevented another round of laughter. “He knows _all the places_ to put ones... do you mind if I call it his cock? No... not for your ears. How about willy? Right, his willy. Or yours, for that matter.” He cleared his throat. “Just where did you want to put yours?”_

_Sam shrugged a shoulder, “Where could I?” he inquired. “And if he knows where to put it how come he said I had to ask you?” Sam’s eyes narrowed, “You sure he didn’t just tell you he knew?” he inquired in an accusatory toney. “Jeffrey Dane said he knew all about the birds and the bees when we were just kids,” he shook his head, “But he didn’t.”_

_“Samuel Winchester, do you think someone who has been down to the dungeons for entertainment for over a hundred years could _possibly_ not know what to do with any part of his or her anatomy?” Crowley asked. “Look, why don’t I take you for a tour. No participation required. You can look your fill, then ask me if you have any questions. But if you get heated up... then don’t look to me. I’m rather attached to my head, if you know what I mean.”_

_Sam was more confused than ever since if Dean knew so much, the reason that he wouldn’t say, the reason it seemed _no one_ would tell him, how it was that two guys had sex baffled and intrigued him all the more. If it was that bad, then they needed to just spit it out and be done with it. That’s what his Pa always said about bad news. He wasn’t exactly sure about going back down there in the dungeons, but he wanted his question answered. _

_“Are you sure it’s okay? I mean, I don’t like the idea of watchin’ to people while they’re... ya know, doin’ _it_ , but....if you think it’ll be okay...” Sam allowed .“Alright,” he agreed with a wave of one hand toward the door. “Let’s go...”_

_“Let’s hope there’s some action. Things do get more heated at nights,” Crowley pointed out and lead the way._

_* * *_

_As they watched a man on his knees in front of a woman, Crowley spoke. “You’ll note he’s putting something other than his willy inside her? Think of your body parts as... oh, numerous willies, looking for places to go into. There are no limits, other than your imagination,” he winked._

_Sam stared wide eyed, first at the couple, then over at Crowley. He lowered his gaze to his own body, trying to figure out what other parts of him were ‘looking for places to go into’. When he couldn’t think of any, he looked back to the couple._

_“You know, I’ve seen animals do it,” he remarked with a shrug. “This ain’t all that different ‘cept his tallywhacker is smaller than our bull’s and her woman bits definitely look better’n our cow’s.”_

_“Why don’t you call it a twat... um, not for you,” Crowley shook his head. “Call it a beaver, then. And I’m sure she’ll be quite happy to hear she’s better than a field cow, though I can’t promise she won’t beat you black n’ blue if you tell her to her face. Come on,” grabbing Sam by the wrist, he pulled him along. “And in case your imagination is stuck, as it seems to be, I’ll give you a hint... you have at least five willies, arguable six, right here,” he said, pulling Sam’s wrist up in the air. “Think about it.”_

_Sam’s brow creased with confusion, “Huh?” His eyes widened. “My whole hand?” he asked incredulously. “Oh my...!” he gasped. “You could kill a person doin’ that!” he wrinkled his nose, “Couldn’t you?”_

_The sound of two men groaning drew Sam’s attention and his face flushed bright crimson when he looked over and saw one sucking the others dick like Dean had done to him his first night here. He quickly dropped his eyes to the floor and started to shift his weight, crossing his arms over his chest protectively._

_“So that’s it, huh?” Sam concluded with a sage nod though his eyes remained lowered to the floor. “That was what Dean said too, that guys just put their tallywhackers in each other’s mouths.”_

_“It doesn’t impress you, then?” Crowley raised his brow, then turned to the men. “A little more action, please. You’ve got an audience.”_

_He walked Sam to the couches and sat him down. “They can’t see your face, it’s light in there and dark out here,” he said._

_The two men proceeded to put on a show. Crowley lost count of time as they watched the men enjoy each other, sucking each others’ dicks at the same time. Then one of them bent the other one over a table and started to slowly fuck him, first just between the thigh, then he started to grind against his arse._

_“You should be growing warm by now,” Crowley whispered to Sam._

_Sam’s eyes were riveted on the men and with each new position and each new thing that they did. His mouth fell open when one of the men began grinding against the other’s ass and then.... Sam started to hyperventilate, his eyes comically widening as he watched one man start to force his.... into the other’s.... He stood to his feet, intending to get the hell out of there but he was unable to pull his gaze away, like when a horse and buggy takes off wild, you know it’s gonna end ugly but you just can’t help but watch. His chest rose and fell heavily as he gulped in too much air and sweat began to bead along his brow, rivulets sliding down the side of his face. He heard Crowley’s voice but it was as if from a long ways off, echo-y and tinny in his ears, and then, when the other man pulled his head back and cried out, Sam’s eyes crossed and blackness engulfed him a second before his body hit the floor._

_* * *_

_Dean was walking down the corridor when Crowley joined him, calm as he pleased, carrying Sam over one shoulder, which Dean knew was quite a feat._

_“Your bedroom or his?” Crowley asked, staggering only a little._

_“Mine. What happened? Did he hit his head again?” Dean demanded to know._

_“He did. When he fainted dead away.”_

_“He doesn’t faint. He fainted? What the hell happened?”_

_“It’s really quite difficult to say.” Crowley focused on the doors down the hall._

_“And if you don’t spit it out, I’m throwing you out the next window we pass,” Dean growled._

_“Right. Well...” Crowley tried to shift Sam to his other shoulder._

_“Give him to me,” Dean started to reach for Sam but Crowley walked faster and the servants opened the doors to Dean’s suites._

_Crowley plonked Sam down onto the bed and shook his head. “He said you don’t know where to put your tallywhacker and that you thought I should educate him.”_

_“I don’t know what? I damned well know … what is wrong with you? First, he talks like you. Now, you talk like him. The hell!?”_

_“I know, it’s catching.” Crowley smiled._

_“And what do you mean _educate_ him. What did you do to him?” Dean looked down at Sam, then back up at Crowley._

_“Didn’t touch him,” Crowley raised his hands. “Just showed him where things go. So he can teach you. Except the lesson seems to have--”_

_“HOW. HOW did you teach him?” Dean advanced on Crowley._

_“We toured the dungeon, that’s all.”_

_“You toured... He agreed to go down. With you?” Dean suddenly grew quiet._

_“It wasn’t like that. You know it wasn’t. Anyway, he saw this and that... and then he fell into a dead faint,” Crowley explained._

_“You mean because he hated what he saw?”_

_“No.” Crowley’s brows wrinkled. “You know, that’s a good question. You can ask him when he wakes. Just... Well, if he did like it, he might want to experiment with his tallywha--”_

_“Would you STOP calling it that. Get out.”_

_Crowley bowed, and left the room, promptly whistling out loud once he was outside the confines of the room._

_*_

_Sam groaned as he rolled over, his brow creasing with confusion as he didn’t remember going to bed. He remembered fighting _again_ with Dean, going to talk to Crowley and then.... He gasped in a breath as his eyes shot open and he swiftly rolled onto his back for fear that wherever he was someone might try to.... He didn’t even want to think about what he’d seen. He squeezed his eyes closed and opened them wide once again, his gaze locking on Dean standing across the room from him. _

_“D-Dean?” he stammered, his wild eyed gaze sweeping the room before returning to the Prince._

_“Well... I didn’t turn into Crowley, so yeah. What have you got to say for yourself?” Dean asked._

_Sam’s mouth fell open, “What...?” What did he have to say for himself, he hadn’t done anything. Had he!?! His eyes widened and started to shake uncontrollably. “What-what do you mean? What...?” he swallowed hard. “What did I do?” he sked, hoping and praying to the God he once knew that he hadn’t done anything even remotely close to what he’d seen. Maybe...maybe that was why he had passed out. Oh God! What if that _was_ why he had passed out? _

_“Do... Did you do something?” It was Dean’s turn to be shocked and not at all thrilled. “Who did you do it with?” his eyes narrowed. Crowley hadn’t said anything about anyone doing anyone._

_Sam shook his head adamantly, “I don’t...I didn’t...I don’t remember... I - I went to see Crowley after we... after you left. And I asked him what I’d asked you about where...how...” he licked his lips. “And then he said we should go down to the dungeons,” he explained with a shake of his head. “I didn’t wanna do it...I just...I wanted to know how you... how we would... Crowley didn’t know where we’d put our tallywhackers either so...” he stammered._

_It was a small chuckle that grew into full on laughter. Once Dean got a hold of himself, he shook his head. “I’ve forbidden Crowley from calling it a tallywhacker, and that goes for you too. You wanna call it something? It’s dick or cock or penis, _not_ tally whatever, not wee wee or wiener, or--”_

_“Crowley said I could call it a willy,” Sam interjected. “Or what about a _peen_?”_

_“No. None of those, especially not willy, and not any other words you can think of or make up. You ah, got that? Each time you use any of those words, someone’s dick shrivels up.”_

_Sam’s brow creased, “It does not,” he retorted. “My sister has called my tally....er, penis, a wiener since she was a baby and it’s never shriveled.”_

_“Mine just shriveled, and that _never_ happens.” Dean countered, dropping into a chair._

_Sam’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Lemme see it.”_

_“If I showed it to you, what would you do with it?” Dean locked gazes with Sam, challenging him. “Run away?”._

_Sam thought about the things that Crowley had told him in the dungeon. “Maybe, maybe not,” he retorted coyly. “Are you too chicken to find out?”_

_“No. Are you too chicken to come sit on my lap?” Dean cocked his head to the side. “There’s no one here but you. And me.” His gaze shifted to the door, and suddenly, a large wardrobe slid across the floor and barred the way. His eyes returned to Sam’s._

_Sam’s head snapped to the side when he heard the wardrobe. When their eyes met, he screwed up his courage. “No. Are you afraid to come over here and show me how shriveled it is? There’s no one here but me... and you,” he countered._

_“Alright. But if you faint, _it_ will never stand at attention again,” Dean threatened, getting up and crossing over to the bed. He stood in front of Sam, with his feet slightly apart, his hand hovering over the metal clasps at the waistband of his leather pants._


	16. Chapter 16

Sam laughed but didn’t believe for a second that Dean was going to just drop his pants right there in the middle of the room. He’d played this game before and the other person always backed down. 

“Okay, let’s see your shriveled little wee-wee,” he said purposely using words he knew Dean would hate. He only half suppressed a devious smirk. 

“Wretch. That’s Crowley-speak for jerk,” Dean explained, smoothly unclasping both metal latches holding his pants closed, and then shoving his pants clear down to his thighs. “You now have the pleasure of meeting the royal cock,” he said, smirking at the shock on Sam’s face. “It doesn’t bite. I sometimes do, though,” he winked. 

He could feel Sam’s breaths fanning against his bare abs and he knew he should step away, give Sam some space. But something held Dean rooted to the spot. 

Sam was taken aback at the abrupt way Dean disrobed. His gaze fell to Dean’s cock and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away at first. His face flushed, he could feel it turning beet red, but he pushed past the embarrassment and lifted his gaze to Dean’s. “Doesn’t look any more shriveled to me than it did before,” he said with a flippant shrug of one shoulder, hoping Dean wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in his voice. 

“Maybe you should touch it, just to be sure. It’s a little dark in here,” Dean answered, silently commanding the lights to dim. 

Sam simply lowered his gaze back to Dean’s dick, his tongue darting out subconsciously, to lick across his suddenly dry lips. “Crowley says I have five, arguably six willies,” he said before lifting his gaze to Dean’s. “He says they’re all looking for places to go into. Do you know what he’s talking about?” 

“In my mouth? My hand? How about right here?” Dean asked, rubbing his thumb in a line along the side of his throat, and then lifting his shoulder up to make a little crevice. “Between my thighs?” He slipped his hand between his legs, under his cock. “Or how about just rubbing against me. Anywhere. Everywhere,” he whispered, his voice dropping down an octave.

Sam’s tongue darted out, the tip running along the line of his bottom lip. “I - um, wait,” he said as he scrambled out of the bed. “Wait, right there,” he hurriedly backed away toward the door leading into his adjoining room. “Don’t move, don’t get dressed, just....” his eyes darted to the bed. “L-l-lay down, I-I-I’ll be right back,” he stammered .

Once in his room, he started yelling for Crowley. When the man didn’t appear, he stepped out into the hallway. “Crowley! Crowley! I need flowers! Crowley!” 

“Make up yer bloody minds. One minute, I’m getting tossed out on my ear, and the next.... What kind of flowers. What for?” Crowley asked, moving to enter Sam’s bedroom, and frowning when Sam stood in the way. He turned and started heading for Dean’s room.

“Don’t!” Sam shouted. “Wardrobe's in the way,” he explained in a rush. “I need,” he panted slightly out of breath from excitement. “I need any kind, something that smells good. What kind does Dean like? And do we have...um, I dunno... a small lantern or candles?” 

Crowley’s frown cleared. “‘Hearts and flowers time’ at last,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Right, I’ll go in and fix the room up, you can saunter inside in... well in nothing, or practically nothing. That ought to do it,” he said, like it was a done deal.

“Wait no,” Sam interrupted. “Dean’s...” he blushed. “He’s waiting for me. I don’t have a lot of time. Can you help me, please? Maybe...I dunno... get him to...to wrap a sheet around himself and...and...I dunno, go into the privy? Tell him you have to show him something that’s not working. Isn’t his job to look after stuff like that?” Sam pleaded. 

“To look after the plumbing?” Crowley looked incredulous. “No, that is most definitely not his job. I’ll think of something. Or... what’s wrong with your room?” 

“Well, nothing, but he’s in our room...or his room, or whatever... and I just thought...” Sam shrugged a shoulder and swallowed hard. “Plus I told him I’d be right back. Just... where can I get flower petals and... candles or a lantern or something? And then... then just keep him busy for about...I dunno, five minutes. Please, Crowley,” he pleaded. 

Crowley snapped his fingers and a few servants came running. “One basket of flowers, one basket of flower petals. Reds,” he said, “And jasmine, he likes their scent. Bring the candelabra from her late Highness’ bedroom, all of them. Go on.” He turned to Sam, “Do you want--”

“Sam!” Dean shouted, clearly irritated.

“Tell him you’re slipping into something more comfortable,” Crowley suggested.

“I’ll be right there. I’m, uh, slipping into something....” he looked back at Crowley and whispered, “Wait, Dean was married once?” 

“More comfortable,” Crowley waved his hand for Sam to say the words out loud for Dean. When he didn’t, Crowley said them for him. “He’ll be there in just a minute, don’t move a muscle Highness. He’s slipping into something less ten centuries ago.” 

Sam frowned at Crowley’s remark but shrugged it off. “You didn’t answer me. You said her highness, was Dean married before?”

“No, he’s all yours. Satisfied? You know, you’re very possessive, in your own way,” he said, reaching out and grasping the hem of Sam’s shirt and tugging it up. “I think just a red bowtie will suit you just fine, and it’ll make his Highness forget you made him cool his heels, or his willy... for this long.”

“He’ll tell me I made it shrivel again,” Sam grumbled. He frowned at what Crowley was doing. “I go in there like that and it really will shrivel,” he said slapping at Crowley’s hands. “What I need is an outfit you’d wear on Sunday. Ya know, your Sunday best, it’s what you’re supposed to wear in times like this.” 

“I personally like to go in the buff on Sundays. What? My body’s good enough,” Crowley grumbled, tearing the shirt off Sam. “There, you look better already. Now, why don’t you go in there and put a silk blindfold on him and then I’ll come in and fix things up. He’ll never know,” Crowley said, producing a silk scarf from Sam’s closet. 

Sam rolled his eyes. He’s going to think I’m an idiot,” he grumbled

“But you’ll be his idiot,” Crowley answered, shooing Sam through the connecting door and into Dean’s bedroom. 

As he entered, Sam flashed a smile in hopes of staving off Dean’s anger. “Um, before you get mad, I have a really good reason for being gone so long,” he blurted. “But um, turn around first, I need to put this blindfold on you.” 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You... you’re playing games?” He wasn’t sure if he could believe it. Just to be certain he wasn’t about to be made into a fool, he pulled his pants up, his eyes still trying to read Sam’s.

Sam shook his head, “No, I’m not playing games, I’m serious,” he retorted. 

Stepping forward he lifted the scarf, “Can I....?” 

Dean gave a nod, still suspicious, but unwilling to pass up the opportunity of getting a little bed play from Sam. He sat back down on the chair and turned away, sucking his breath in as he felt the silk glide over his cheeks before being tugged tight and knotted behind his head. “So... something got you hot? What was it?” Dean asked, filled with curiosity and maybe a touch of jealousy at who or what might have inspired Sam, down in the dungeons. 

“Um, would you believe just you...and the stuff Crowley and I talked about?” Sam mumbled as his hands came to rest on Dean’s shoulders once he’d finished tying the scarf. It was a firm knot but not too tight and not too loose, he made sure of it when he’d tied it, keeping a finger underneath the silken material next to Dean’s head until after it was fastened. “Okay, I need to make sure that Crowley is doing what I asked him. Um, will you be okay here...like this?” he asked nervously. 

“Don’t be long.” Dean tried not to get his hopes up, but by the Gods, his heart was already speeding up with anticipation. He kept telling himself this might just be about a few kisses, or ...or he didn’t know. He had no idea what Sam was up to.

Hearing sounds and movements in the room, Dean turned his head in their direction but couldn’t see a damned thing.

Crowley waved his hand in front of Dean’s face, and then grinned at Sam. A moment later, an army of silent servants got to work on the room; bringing in the candelabra, lighting the candles up, putting flowers in the room. He gave Sam the basket of petals, and then went across the room to put a violet scarf cover over a lantern. The room was now cast in a blue- purple hue.

Catching Sam’s eyes, he got a nod of approval and motioned for the servants to walk through to Sam’s chambers and leave the lovebirds alone. Before he left, he made his hand into a fist and moved it back and forth in front of his mouth, sucking his cheeks in. Then he gave Sam the thumbs up and disappeared.

Sam’s cheeks turned the color of the shirt he’d been wearing before Crowley had all but ripped it from his body. He ducked his head sheepishly and nodded to his friend before turning his attention to the bed. He pulled the linens back and made sure they were straight and perfect before starting to sprinkle the flower petals over all over the mattress. Once the basket was empty he set the basket down on the floor and kicked it under the bed to get it out of the way, then crossed back over to where he’d left Dean sitting. 

“Um, okay... stand up.” Sam led Dean to the bed, and had him sit down on the edge. “I’m gonna take this off now,” he announced somewhat nervously as he reached for the scarf. “If you hate it...um, well, I tried my best... but since it was a last minute thing and all....” he rambled as he untied the scarf and pulled it from Dean’s eyes. He took a step back and tried to sort of blend into the shadows, hoping that the room would pretty well speak for itself. 

Dean blinked and took in his now transformed room. The dark, jewel like hues of the lights playing on the walls. The candles and the flower petals surrounding him. He cleared his throat. “I like the way you’re courting me,” he said, giving Sam an encouraging smile. “I don’t think anyone’s gone through this much trouble for me.” 

His gaze slid over Sam’s bare chest and he hoped to hell this meant something was going to happen. Putting his hand out, he waited for Sam to come to him.

Sam stepped out from the shadows, a proud smile curving his lips as he took Dean’s hand. Leaning in, he sealed his mouth over Dean’s, trailing his tongue across the seam of Dean’s lips before slipping it inside. Sam tasted Dean, the tangy flavor of tomato juice and the harsh bite of vodka. He couldn’t help thinking it was much like the man, soft and harsh in turn. 

He decided to explore further. The tip of his tongue teased at Dean’s palate before sliding further inside and languidly mapping out the man’s mouth. He lifted a knee onto the bed and then slowly crawled in, pushing Dean back against the pillows as he moved. 

Until he felt the weight of Sam’s hard body pushing him into the mattress, Dean was half convinced this was a dream. His disappointment at breakfast, and his fear that Sam was averse to anything physical ever really developing between them, made him want to protect himself from believing, from hoping. 

At first, he let Sam explore his mouth, merely moving his own against Sam’s, but when he thought Sam was ready, he engaged Sam’s tongue, kissing him back playfully. Though he closed his arms around Sam’s waist, his touch was light. He ran his palm over smooth warm, smooth skin, enjoying the sensation of muscles shifting under his touch. His heart banged against his chest. He was afraid to speak, or even to move. Afraid that the spell would be broken and he’d wake, or they’d be arguing about what was right and what was wrong.

Sam pulled his other leg up off the floor and blanketed Dean’s body with his own while continuing to kiss him, mapping out his mouth and tangling his tongue with Dean’s. His hands went to the hem of Dean’s tunic and slowly began to ease it upward, brushing the pads of his thumbs against each bit of new warm flesh that was revealed. Once the garment was as high as it was getting with his mouth locked on Dean’s, he pulled his mouth away, gazing hotly down into Dean’s eyes as he gave the shirt a slight tug upward. “Take it off,” he whispered as though he were afraid speaking any louder would break the spell between them. 

Dean nodded, trying to tamp down on the surge of lust those words sent through him. He pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it to the ground, then settled back down, sweeping his hands up the center of Sam’s back. His gaze dropped to Sam’s reddened lips, but he didn’t voice his desires.

Sam’s lips curved into a warm smile. He leaned in again, nipping at Dean’s full bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, only to release it and do the same with his luscious top lip. Then he pulled his head marginally back, his eyes shifting to the scarred side of Dean’s face. With a quick glance into Dean’s eyes, he allowed his own to flutter closed as he leaned in and dropped feather light kisses along the marred flesh. He worked his way down the side of Dean’s face and lower, shifting his body as he pressed his hands to the mattress, easing himself down the length of Dean’s form. He continued peppering kisses along the abused flesh of his lover’s throat and down across his shoulder and side. 

As always, Dean tensed as Sam gave his attention to the marred side of his body. He wished he could see Sam’s eyes, but the boy was too shy to look at him. “Mmm, good,” he whispered, moving his hand through Sam’s hair, stroking it, hoping to show him how he was feeling. 

Sam’s lips curved upward into a gentle smile at Dean’s praising and he continued relentlessly to kiss his way down the side of Dean’s body, determined to show him that he was not afraid of the scars, that he accepted them as part of who Dean was now. He tilted his head up, lips parting with his softly panted breaths as his eyes slipped open to mere slits. His tongue darted out, licking across his reddened lips as he gazed up at Dean a moment before tipping his head again and trailing his kisses inward, towards Dean’s navel. Sam allowed his tongue to dip inside, flicking it against the tender flesh teasingly and nipping gently at the delicate skin around the indentation. 

Pulling his mouth away, Sam eased back onto his knees, peeling his body off Dean’s as he knelt between his legs. He reached for the fastenings of Dean’s pants without looking up, afraid that if he did, he might lose his nerve. His attention was fixed on the task at hand, deftly unfastening the clasps at the front of Dean’s pants, parting them and revealing the briefs underneath. His cheeks flushed a bright rose hue but he pushed forward, keeping Crowley’s instructions in mind and bending at the waist to press soft kisses against his lover’s cock and balls through the fabric of his briefs. 

Dean’s cock was aching so bad, Dean thought he was going to die if Sam didn’t touch him anytime soon. And then he did. Touch him. The intense heat that pooled low in Dean’s belly had him digging his heels into the mattress and slightly raising his hips, moaning in agonized pleasure. He half sat up, on his elbows, watching intently as Sam’s mouth moved over him, wetting the thin fabric of his briefs. “Sammy,” he whispered, his fingers curling around Sam’s hair as he reminded himself to keep breathing.

Sam’s opened his eyes and tilted his face toward Dean’s, keeping his mouth against his briefs as his brow creased, brows lifting in question only to smooth out as his lips curved into a wide grin when he saw nothing but pleasure in Dean’s face. Forcing himself to re-focus, he took the next step in Crowley’s instructions and breathed hotly against the fabric. His warm breaths fanning right through the thin material, puffing against his lover’s most private areas. Lifting his hands from the bed, he reached for Dean’s waistband once again, tucking his thumbs inside as he began to inch the material down. He tugged at it until he got his lover’s slacks down to where he was forced to lift his head and look up into Dean’s face. 

“Can....” his face flushed brightly, “Will you lift up?” he asked hesitantly. “So - so I can pull them down farther,” he stammered quickly as though he wasn’t sure if Dean would know why he had made the request.

“Sam. It’s not... shriveled now,” Dean warned hoarsely, raising his hips and shimmying slightly to help as Sam pulled his pants and briefs down. His cock had been straining hard against the confines of his briefs and now that it was freed, it stood erect, practically against his stomach. “It’s what you do to me,” Dean whispered. “No one else has, not in a century. Only you.” He wanted to instruct Sam, but something warned him to let the boy learn on his own or wait for him to ask. 

Sam nodded. He was well aware that it wasn’t _shriveled_ since he’d felt its hard ridge against his lips through Dean’s briefs. He pulled the clothing down past Dean’s knees, and gave a final tug, dropping the pants to the floor with a soft thud. He moved back between Dean’s legs, his cheeks flaming because Dean had said he was responsible for Dean’s rock hard condition. 

Sam’s tongue darted out subconsciously licking across his lips as he carefully wrapped a large hand around Dean’s shaft, glancing up when he heard Dean groan. A soft nervous and rather breathy snicker broke from between his lips and he was tempted to warn Dean that he had no idea what he was doing. That would break the spell, this perfect moment they seemed to have found all to themselves.

He dipped his head as he leaned over at the waist and allowed his tongue to dart out, licking across Dean’s tip to learn the flavor and feel of the satin soft skin. Finding it an interesting combination of salty and sweet, and not at all repulsive as he’d feared, he took the head of Dean’s cock inside his mouth. Tentatively, he slid his tongue over and around it, learning the feel and texture of his lover’s dick. 

Dean practically held his breath at what seemed a clinical inspection of his cock. He broke out in a sheen of sweat, hoping, waiting, and needing. And then Sam took him inside the wet heat of his mouth and there was nothing clinical about the way he was licked and explored, the slide of Sam’s wet tongue making Dean go even harder. 

One of Dean’s hands gripped the bed clothes. The other was still in Sam’s hair, and he struggled very hard not to push Sam’s head down or to beg him to take his cock all the way inside his mouth. But the visions... visions of Sam doing just that, tortured him. 

“P... Please.” Dean hadn’t meant to beg. He hadn’t meant to make a sound, and now, he tensed all over and watched Sam, wondering if he’d bolt and leave him like this.

Sam pulled his mouth away, allowing the tip of Dean’s cock to slide from between his reddened lips to ask what was wrong but the answer hit him. He might be naive and a virgin, but he knew raw need when he saw it. He nodded instead and moved his free hand to Dean’s hip, smoothing it up and down across soft warm skin, trying to sooth him. “It’s okay,” he cooed softly as he returned his attention to Dean’s dick. 

Sam opened his mouth and took more of his lover’s cock into his mouth, enough that he was sure that if he had taken more he would have gagged. Not that he was disgusted as perhaps he should have been, but its girth and weight pressed at his tongue and the back of his throat, threatening his gag reflex with every small move of his head. He remembered how Crowley had said that he needed to bob his head and he thought of how the two men had done so while sucking one another. He tentatively slid his mouth upward along the length of Dean’s cock and then back down, uncertain if he was even doing it right. The sounds that broke from Dean encouraged him to keep going, to try to make this good for Dean. 

Shudders of pleasure rippled through Dean each time Sam’s hot mouth moved up and down his hard shaft and lingered over his crown. Like he somehow knew how much that affected Dean. Like he was aware that every time he did it, Dean felt like jumping out of his skin. 

He couldn’t help himself. Dean closed his legs around Sam’s waist, locking them at his ankles. It gave him a little more control. Helped him to pull Sam closer or raise his own body, but he strained to keep his movements slow and controlled, never pushing himself deeper into Sam’s mouth. “Oh Gods... feels so good, so damned good. Magic. You’re magic, Sammy,” he whispered, meaning every word.

Sam’s lips curved around the dick in his mouth and he continued to move his hand against the jut of bone at Dean’s hip soothingly while his other hand chased after his mouth as he bobbed his head. After a moment, his mind running over everything he had learned and the very small number of things he had known before hand, like the things that _he_ himself liked, he moved his hand from Dean’s hip to between the Prince’s spread legs. Cupping his balls in his hand and squeezing firmly but gently before tugging with just as much aggression; careful not to hurt Dean, but firmly enough to make each movement count. 

A deep groan erupted from the back Dean’s throat. He couldn’t help himself, he thrust his hips, pushing himself deeper into the heat of Sam’s mouth. “Yes, oh Gods yes,” he whispered, getting a hold of himself, but still thrusting his hips in time with the movements of Sam’s mouth and hand. 

His hand slipped down to Sam’s back, his blunt fingernails digging into Sam’s skin each time he dealt with another bolt of heat coursing through him. “I’m close. Sam... I’m close... if you don’t wanna... you have to .. you have to pull off,” he said, almost panicking as the pressure built inside him. 

Sam’s brows furrowed with confusion as he tilted his face upward and looked up at Dean from under his brows. He gave a muffled inquiry as to what was wrong. But he didn’t pull back, instead he redoubled his efforts; stroking Dean’s dick mercilessly as his mouth moved up and down his length and his opposite hand tugged and squeezed at his balls. 

“Mph... Can’t... hold...” Dean panted, squeezing his eyes shut but unable to control the fires burning in him, the fires Sam was fanning with his enthusiasm. Growling Sam’s name, Dean tightened his legs around him and started to ride Sam’s mouth, each thrust bringing him closer and closer, until he spun out of control. His orgasm slammed into him. “Sam!” Dean shouted, like he’d just been punched in the gut. And then he was coming hard in Sam’s mouth, hot cum spewing as he arched and rode Sam’s mouth in blissful agony.

Sam’s eyes widened and he gagged when the first rope of cum hit the back of his throat. He was more prepared for those that followed however and he swallowed each one down, hoping like hell he was doing it right. He worked Dean through his orgasm and once the Prince was lying limply against the bed, he eased his head back and allowed his lover’s rapidly softening cock to slip from between his lips. He released Dean and pressed his hands on the mattress as he dipped his head and pressed a soft tender kiss against the crown of Dean’s cock before shifting onto his hands and knees, crawling slowly up Dean’s body, and trailing kisses against his skin. 

Dean was still making sounds of pleasure and when Sam crawled high enough up his body, he tugged him down over him. “Now you know why I was so jealous of that damned strawberry you were sucking on,” he said, cupping the back of Sam’s head and bringing their mouths together. He kissed Sam hard, taking his mouth until Sam was as breathless as he himself. Then Dean rolled them over, and kissed Sam again, this time giving him soft, lingering kisses, practically making love to his mouth.

Sam smiled and opened his mouth to reply, only to wind up with a mouthful of Dean’s tongue. He tensed as he started to panic at the intensity of the kiss, pushing against Dean’s chest and pressing his head back against the other man’s hand that cupped his head in an attempt to break free. His heart hammered fearfully in his chest and when he was rolled, his eyes popped open wide but he relaxed when Dean began to kiss him softly, lovingly, languidly. He sighed with contentment and lifted a hand to cup the side of Dean’s face, the side that just happened to be the scarred one, his thumb brushing across his high cheekbone as he returned his Prince’s kiss. 

“You’re amazing,” Dean whispered hotly into Sam’s ear, between kisses. “If I died now, I I’d die happy.” He kissed Sam one more time, and then lifted his head. 

Sam’s lips were curved into a wide smile, one large enough that his dimples showed and a soft chuckle broke from between his lips. “If you died now, I’d have a lot of explaining to do,” he countered. 

That had Dean chuckling it was cut short when Sam’s smile melted away and he looked serious. Almost distressed even.

“Don’t talk like that,” Sam gently admonished. “Don’t wanna think about that,” he murmured. He rolled onto his side toward Dean and reached for one of his hands, lacing his fingers with Dean’s. His other hand went to the crotch of his pants, adjusting his own hard dick pressing against his zipper. 

“Crowley mentioned a _her_ highness,” he murmured. “Was she... Is that your Ma?” he asked softly while he continued to trace the lines of Dean’s face with light brushes of his fingertips.

Lifting their hands, Dean kissed Sam’s knuckles, then brought their joined hands over his own stomach, letting them rest there. “Yeah. She was my mother. There are some portraits of her in the gallery.” He closed his eyes as Sam kept touching his face. Even the ruined side. 

“She was away when the curse... she escaped it. But I never saw her again. In the early years, before the wraiths, there was fear in the other principalities... fear that the wraith curse could spread, or that those who came to Castica would be affected. The roads to our principality were blocked. Barricaded. Years later, when people were allowed to cross over, I heard she’d tried to make the journey alone. No one could say ‘no’ to my mother,” he said with both pride and sadness. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam offered gently. “I know what it’s like to lose your Ma.” He allowed his hand to sweep downward, along Dean’s neck to rest against his chest, his index finger swirling around one of Dean’s nipples. 

A smile suddenly curved Sam’s lips and his face flushed a deep scarlet as he gave a soft chuckle. “Somethin’ I forgot to do,” he remarked softly, tapping the pad of his finger against one hardened bud. “Crowley told me I should suck these,” he explained, “Guess I got in a hurry.” 

Dean laughed. “Remind me to give the man a gift.” Catching Sam’s wrist, he pulled it up and kissed the finger he was still pointing. Then he sucked it into his mouth and hollowed out his cheeks several times, before letting Sam’s finger go. “Let me do it to your _other_ finger,” he whispered seductively. “And maybe I’ll show you where else _this_ finger can go.” This time he showed Sam his tongue. 

Sam’s lips parted to ask why it was that he wanted to suck his other finger before snapping it back closed as he understood what Dean was getting at. His cock twitched in his pants with interest but he shook his head instead of agreeing. “Mm, nah, it’s okay,” he murmured almost dejectedly. While the offer was tempting, he was too happy, they both were, for him to do something stupid like some too soon again and anger Dean. 

“Are you sure? I _want_ to do something for you,” Dean said, brushing the hair off Sam’s forehead. “Only if you want it too,” he added, kissing Sam’s shoulder and settling back down. His hand drifted down Sam’s chest, but he merely rested it suggestively over his naval. Close enough for Sam to realize the offer was open. 

Sam shook his head, “It’s okay,” he murmured with an almost sad smile. “I just... it’s been too perfect, I don’t wanna ruin it.” 

Rubbing Sam’s stomach, Dean put an arm around Sam and drew him close. “I wish...” he trailed off and just gave a smile. “Alright. Maybe later. Or the next time you think you might want a private moment with your hand, you’ll ask me instead. We could hold a competition. His Highness versus Hand of Sam.” Chuckling at his own idiotic joke, he looked over at Sam. “You’re going to call me a jug head, aren’t you?”

Sam chuckled and his face flushed a soft shade of red though he shook his head, “No,” he murmured. “Not...not right now,” he retorted gently. He scooted somewhat closer to Dean and lifted his head, leaning over Dean he dipped it and wrapped his lips around one of his lover’s nipples, swirling his tongue around it the way he had his finger before sucking at it hard enough to cause his cheeks to hollow out. 

“Hey,” Dean bit his lower lip and gave a low moan. “Do you know what happens if you keep that up?” Each slide of Sam’s wet tongue over his sensitive flesh threatened his sanity.

Sam slowly lifted his head, pulling Dean’s nipple upward along with it before releasing and allowing the abused nipple to slip from between his lips with a wet pop. “What happens?” 

“Check between my legs... _that_ happens,” Dean chuckled, and captured Sam’s mouth in a kiss. He couldn’t help himself, and he wasn’t sorry. 

Sam snickered against Dean’s lips, a devious light entering his eyes. “Maybe that was what I was aiming for.” 

“Hmm. I see how it is. It’s alright. You know I like it hot and naughty.” Dean started another round of kissing, rolling on top of Sam again. He touched him, gently, groping him, but never keeping his hand in one place for too long, though he wanted to. Very badly. 

Sam tensed at first when Dean mentioned liking it hot and _naughty_ , he soon relaxed though as Dean simply continued to touch him and kiss him and he went back to teasing Dean’s body to a fevered pitch. After a while, he wound up working his way back down Dean’s body and retaking his lover’s cock into his mouth, milking an orgasm from Dean all over again. He continued this routine, lying next to Dean and holding him close for a while before starting all over again and making Dean come, they remained in bed together long into the evening. 

* * *

Dean sat in the small salon, sipping on his hot coffee. 

“Thought I saw you stumbling in here, rough night?” Crowley asked, moving aside so the servants could bring a few breakfast items in for his Highness.

“Um... you could say that.” Dean grinned and took another drink.

“You both missed dinner.”

“Uh huh.”

“And supper.”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t call for a midnight snack.”

“Crowley, have I gone senile?” Dean asked.

“No, Highness.”

“Then you don’t have to give me a rundown of what I did or did not do less than twenty-four hours ago.” He stood up and stretched, then walked to the window, a little stiffly.

“So it was _that_ sort of night. Did he…?”

“Earn necklaces? Oh yeah. Many necklaces. Many, many necklaces,” Dean gave a snort.

“You’re rubbed raw. By the Gods, you’re....”

“He was very enthusiastic. I didn’t want to ruin it by pointing out--”

“That a tallywacker gets sensitive--”

“Get out.”

Crowley bowed, and snickered as he left his Highness in the room alone.


	17. Chapter 17

Dean and a contingency of four armed warriors had gone out of the gates to meet a small horde of wraiths that had been spotted from the castle walls. The battle had been brutal. Even more so because they tried not to maim the wraiths, but to wrap chains around them and drag them to the pits that had been dug up. Many had hopes that when the curse was lifted, those who had been frozen, or turned into the undead, would also get their lives back.

One of his men was injured. One wraith was destroyed, but several others were successfully thrown into the pit. “Close it up,” Dean ordered, and the men pushed the heavy planks over the pit that the wraiths had no hope of climbing out of anyway. The covers were to prevent people from falling in on the rare occasions they were beyond the walls.

The injured warrior was taken into the castle ahead of the others. Dean took up the rear, ordering his men inside and riding in behind them.

They stopped in front of the castle, at the courtyard and dismounted. While the wounded were taken inside, Dean accepted a drink of water and answered some questions people put to him. Everyone had questions about who the wraiths had been. How many there had been. Why more and more groups were drawing closer to the walls? Questions Dean didn’t have full answers to. All he could do was speculate.

Sam walked out and down the stairs of the front entrance of the castle, his gaze set on Dean as he made his way over. He stood back from the others not wanting to interfere in business he truly had no part of. It wasn’t until Dean finished speaking with everyone and taken a few, somewhat stiff steps toward him, that Sam rushed to the man. His mouth curved into a wide smile before he sealed his mouth over Dean’s in a semi-chaste open mouthed kiss. Pulling his head back, he eyed Dean from head to foot before returning his eyes to his Prince’s. 

“Your gait, it seems stiff, are you alright?” he inquired softly, his voice somewhat husky. 

Dean internally cursed when Sam moved his mouth away too fast. But his comment took him off guard, and he didn’t miss the light that entered Crowley’s eyes either. “I’ve been fighting giants and monsters, just a little tired, but I’m fine,” he assured Sam, leaning in and stealing a much less chaste kiss.

Sam returned Dean’s kiss, a soft moan tearing from his throat as their tongues slid together. Pulling his head back, a blush stole over his features as his eyes darted around them, noting those that stood nearby, _watching_.

“Monsters and giants,” he echoed with a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Then you must be exhausted and fit for a hero’s welcome,” he remarked, remembering the way his Ma use to say things of that sort to his Pa after he’d come in from working hard the fields before the two of them would disappear into the house and lock the door. 

He grasped Dean’s hand in his as he took a step back, giving it a gentle tug as he jerked his head toward the castle, “ _Come_ with me, Highness?” 

“Of course.” Dean’s stomach growled and as he was tugged towards the stairs, he started to ask, “Have you ordered a special meal for me or something?” Crowley’s laughter, coming from behind them, gave him pause. Was there something he should be aware of?

Sam grinned over his shoulder at Dean. “We can eat later. I’ll feed you,” he murmured, blushing profusely as he pulled Dean into the castle and past servants, and started heading for the stairs to the second level. 

“You will? Cause I’m really...” Sam’s haste had Dean moving faster. Ideas of what Sam could want flooded his mind, tempting him away from satisfying his hunger for a meal. 

As soon as they were in his bedchamber, Dean whirled Sam around, pushing his back into the door as he kissed him soundly. “You taste like fruit,” he murmured, licking his lips with approval. “So... you _need_ me?” he asked, pressing his thigh lightly against Sam’s cock.

Sam licked his own lips at the end of their kiss. He sucked in a soft breath at the press of Dean’s thigh against his cock but managed to squirm out of Dean’s hold, walking backwards toward the bed. “I need you,” he agreed with a nod, “Come to bed?” he said as he sat upon its edge and patted an area of the thick mattress next to him. “I want to welcome you home,” he allowed with a wicked smirk as his tongue darted out, the tip teasing along the line of his bottom lip. 

“Really?” Dean had already handed off his sword, but now he started undoing his heavy belt. “Take your shirt off for me?” Giving Sam a heated look, he undid his belt and dropped it noisily to the floor.

Sam hesitantly reached for the front of his button up shirt, the first seven button areas buttonless and hanging open to reveal his chest. He unfastened the four that the shirt had and shrugged it off, tossing it down onto the floor. 

“Now you undress,” Sam instructed with a nod. 

“As you wish.” Dean had to wonder if Sam had been to the dungeons again. Maybe he’d seen things that stirred his blood. Whatever the reason for the heated looks and shy smiles, Dean couldn’t be more pleased. He wanted to touch Sam, to show him so many things. To watch him come apart in his arms. 

One by one, Dean undid the lacings of his shirt, and then pulled the shirt off. Like a predator, eyes focused on Sam, he stalked towards him, leaned down and pushed him down on the bed as he kissed him. Oh yes, he was going to hear Sam cry out his name before dinner

Sam returned his kisses but pushed gently at his chest to get Dean to roll off of him, his mouth breaking away from Dean’s in the process. “Just lay back,” he coaxed gently with a saucy light in his eyes. Now that Sam knew what he was doing for the most part when it came to pleasing Dean with his mouth, he couldn’t seem to get enough of the sight of the Prince coming apart for him, or the taste of his kisses and the words of praise that fell from his lips. 

He kissed his way down Dean’s chest, allowing his tongue to dart out and trace along the scarred side of his body before moving to capture a nipple between his lips and suck it into his mouth. He nipped at the rapidly hardening bud before licking away the sting with the pointed tip of his tongue. Releasing that nipple, he moved on to its twin, on the unscarred side of Dean’s body, and pleasuring him again.

Then Sam slowly made his way lower, licking along Dean’s body, teasing at his navel for a moment or two, then down to the waistband of his trousers. Sam lifted his head to gaze up at Dean while his hands worked at the fastenings. “I’ll have to make it a rule that these come off too next time,” he mused, another blush immediately staining his cheeks. 

“Rules go two ways.” Dean ran his hands down Sam’s sides, then sat up so he could reach the fastenings of Sam’s pants. He undid the button and asked, “Are you hard for me? I’ll take care of it, of you, every part of you,” he promised.

Sam’s cheeks flushed brightly and he averted his eyes, unwilling to admit the obvious, that he was hard for Dean, that the sounds that he made when he came made Sam hard and wanting, that the last time they had spent the night together sleep had been a hard won fight due to his own needs that he had stubbornly denied. 

Looking back at Dean, his eyes were wide and beseeching, “Let me just do this,” he pleaded. “For you...” 

“Okay. But you’re next,” Dean said, slowly lowering to the mattress. “I’m... I’m a little sensitive today. All that riding,” he lied through his teeth. 

Sam nodded, knowing that he wouldn’t give Dean the chance to do him, he’d keep going again and again until Dean passed out, just the way he had the last time. Parting his lover’s pants he tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his britches and tugged them down as far as he could. 

“Lift up,” Sam directed, tugging them down further once Dean did as he’d requested. Then he threw his leg back over Dean, climbing out of the way so that he could tug them off and toss them away before returning to his spot between his lover’s legs. He took Dean’s cock in hand and frowned, brow creasing with concern as he lifted his gaze back to Dean’s. 

“You’re red,” he commented worriedly. “I’ll have to kiss it more tonight,” he concluded before Dean could respond or comment. Lowering his head he took Dean’s dick into his mouth on a long low moan, stroking his hand purposefully along the over sensitized flesh. 

“Yeah but...” The instant his cock was encased in the wet heat of Sam’s mouth, Dean forgot about the pain. He groaned and raised his hips, glad Sam was no longer afraid every time he moved. “That’s good...ungh... yeah...”

Dean knew better. He was going to regret this. But one time wouldn’t make it that much worse. And Gods... Sam knew how to get him relaxed. After this, he’d show him some other tricks and...

Each time Dean tried to think clearly, Sam managed to make his world blur. “Fuck...”

Sam grinned around Dean’s cock, almost masterfully playing his lover like his Pa use to play the harmonica. Each time Dean would come and begin to try to draw Sam into something else, something, as Dean called it, to repay him, Sam would begin again, attacking the length of his lover’s torso and once more sucking at his cock, which was growing redder by leaps and bounds with each stroke of Sam’s hand along his length. 

Sam sucked at Dean’s dick again, swirling his tongue around the tip the way he would Dean’s nipple, as he had begun to experiment, adding things he knew before with this new thing that he seemed to have become addicted to. He sucked hard on just the tip, enjoying the way it seemed to make Dean writhe against the bed, then he sucked the length deep, swallowing against it and revealing in the praise that he would receive. 

“OH Gods. Sam... Sam!” Dean didn’t try to delay his release, knowing it would go better for him if he kept this short. “Oh yeah, oh yeah, baby,” he whispered, over and over, gently pulling Sam up as soon as Sam had milked him beyond dry. “Kiss... kiss me,” he demanded, rolling over on Sam to make it impossible for him to keep stimulating him.

“My turn to play,” he said, “C’mon, lemme...” It became a playful struggle, but somehow, he ended up sitting with his back to the headboard, and Sam between his thighs, bringing his cock alive again. 

“Who knew the royal penis tasted better than chocolate pudding?” Dean asked, hitting his head against the headboard and letting out a cry of pleasure and _pain_.

* * * 

Hours later, once Sam had fallen asleep, Dean managed to leave the bedroom. He asked for food to be brought to him and gingerly walked the length of the hall to get to the small salon.

Crowley was there ahead of him.

“Dare I say you’re looking a bit bowlegged, Highness?”

“Can I stop you?”

“Doubtful.”

 

Dean gave a grunt, and tried to walk in a way that his loose pants wouldn’t chafe him. “You have _got_ to show him other tricks or he’s going to wear it out.” Dean dropped into the chair. “I think he was trying to heal me... or something.”

“Have you lost your ability to say ‘no’?” 

“Have you seen Sam’s lips?” Dean glared at Crowley. “It’s not funny.”

“Of course it isn’t. What I mean to say is, it’s not _just_ funny, it’s quite hysterical. A case of ‘’be careful what you wish for.’” Laughing, Crowley motioned for the food to be placed on the table.

“You’re lucky I don’t have the energy to fire you,” Dean said gruffly, accepting a roast beef sandwich. 

*

Sam awoke to an empty room though he could hear Dean and Crowley’s voices.. Slipping from the bed, his hair still tousled from sleep, Sam made his way silently on bare feet into the salon. His lips curved into a soft smile as he spotted Dean seated at a small table eating. 

“You should have said you were hungry,” he remarked gently as he entered, sparing a glance at Crowley. “I think I remember offering to feed it to you.” 

“I didn’t want to wake you. But I can order grapes and you can feed them to me if you like. Or I can feed you...” he’d been about to say strawberries, but he promptly changed his mind. “Come, have some. I’m not the only one who missed a meal.” 

Sam shook his head to the grapes idea though he did cross the room to Dean’s table and dropped into the chair next to him. “Maybe strawberries and cream would be better,” he offered softly with a glance up at Crowley to be sure that only Dean had heard him, his cheeks tinting a soft pink shade. 

Sam lifted his gaze to Crowley and smiled with a glance at Dean pointedly from the corner of his eye. “Do you think you could bring me some fried chicken?” he inquired. “With mashed potatoes,” he added, knowing full well how long both of those would take to prepare, they had not dined on either one in the past few days. He jerked his head toward Dean and widened his gaze pointedly at Crowley, careful to be sure that Dean had not caught the gesture. 

“At your service,” Crowley started for the door.

“Wait!”

“Yes your Highness?” Crowley hovered at the door.

“Ah... Sam … your friend, Sam wants your company. Sit at the table with us,” he said, waving toward a chair. “Have someone bring up his dinner.”

“Right.” Crowley was caught between the pair of them. “I’ll get a few bits and pieces together and be back before anything happens... anything at all,” he said, making his escape.

“I guess he’ll be right back,” Dean said, pointedly. “You want a bite?” He brought his sandwich close to Sam’s mouth. His very puffy, very red mouth, and it was no wonder. 

Sam shook his head and his gaze swung to the door and back to Dean. “He might be a while,” he mused. He watched Dean a few silent moments before nodding, “I think I will have a bite,” he mused before slipping down beneath the table. His hands slid along Dean’s thighs before reaching for the elastic waistband of his silken pants, pulling it down far enough to be able to reach in with his other hand and pull Dean’s dick out. 

“Sam?” Dean’s gaze widened as he looked down and saw Sam’s head between his legs. 

“Keep eating,” Sam directed with a smirk, “Don’t mind me.” 

He leaned up on his knees, careful not to bump his head on the underside of the table and sank his mouth down over Dean’s cock, sucking it hard enough to hollow out his cheeks as a low moan tore from his throat. 

He slowly pulled his head back and eyed the reddened and rather raw looking shaft. “Needs a lot of kisses,” he concluded before taking it back into his mouth, moving his lips up and down along Dean’s length as he wrapped his hand around the base of Dean’s cock and stroked him. 

“Oh... Gods...” the sandwich dropped from Dean’s fingers. Both arms flat on the table, he leaned forward. “Not necessary... really... want you to eat and... oh Gods,” he bit his lip as a wave of heat uncurled in his stomach. “I... I think... maybe we should give it a rest.... ungh.” Despite his words, Dean was responding, lifting his hips and chasing Sam’s lips. He was going to be in agony tomorrow...

*

Sam glanced up from where he sat next to Dean, hands folded on the table top, innocently awaiting his meal when the door opened and Crowley walked in along with a few others carrying plates of steaming hot potatoes and fried chicken.

“And here we are... you can set it there, and there,” Crowley told the servants. “Highness, we’re looking a bit... disheveled, aren’t we? Did something happen while I was gone?”

Dean merely glared at the man with murder in his eyes.

“Did you have a little snack?” Crowley asked Sam, “I hope you still have an appetite.”

Sam’s cheeks flamed bright red as he lowered his gaze to the table, “I’m famished,” he responded with a nod, watching as his food was placed before him along with a tall glass of milk. He looked back up at Crowley, “Thank you,” he said with a wink before glancing at Dean to be sure he hadn’t seen. 

“Is there anything else I can get you, your Highness?” Crowley asked.

“Armor.”

“Armor? What sort...?”

“Seven...eight inches long, two inches wide,” Dean muttered.

Crowley choked. “Water, water,” he demanded with a snap of his fingers, tears streaming down his face long after he’d had a drink. “That’s rich... that’s...”

Sam turned his attention to Dean, his brow creased with confusion, “What’s that going to fit? No one is only seven or eight inches tall, not even a midget.”

“Crowley is, right after I’ve cut him down to size,” Dean retorted, his dark gaze still on the hapless man trying, very unsuccessfully, to get a hold of himself. .

* * * 

Dean was working at the large desk in the library when not one, but three servants came in to tell him Sam was at the stables, waiting for him. He’d told the first and second to let Sam know he wouldn’t be riding with him. When the third arrived, he sent a message back. “Ask him if there is a different word for ‘no’ in Earthling tongue.”

“Ooh, we’re a bit testy this morning, aren’t we?” Crowley asked, bringing in a fresh pot of coffee. 

“I can barely walk and he wants me to ride. I’ll ride--” He bit off the rest of his crass threat.

Sam hurried into the castle dressed in a flowing white shirt and dark skin tight trousers with matching black riding boots. He searched for Dean, making his way hurriedly toward the room in which he often found Dean in which he conducted business. At the door, he didn’t knock like he usually would, but instead barged in and hurried over to Dean at the desk. 

“I heard that you don’t want to ride with me,” Sam accused. “Why? Did I do something wrong? Are you angry with me?” he inquired in rapid fire succession. He turned his gaze to Crowley then and smiled, “Morning, Crowley, is he calling your name all the _bloody time_ again?”

“You’d better believe it. It’s one of those mornings, isn’t it?” Crowley answered

“Sam, go on your ride. Have a good time. I’ve got work. Crowley, get out. After you pour the coffee,” he added.

“As you wish. Oh, I’ll have the healer come by to see you. She has some special cream,” Crowley said, completely ignoring his Highness’ gestures to shut him up. “She said she’ll apply it twice a day...”

Sam’s brow creased, “What cream? What’s wrong? Are you sick? Is it your leg?” Sam inquired with a glance toward Crowley. “Maybe....maybe we should...you know...go to bed,” Sam said with a suggestive lift of his brow, taking Dean’s hand. 

“No. No!” Dean pulled his hand away. “I… I really can’t.”

Crowley took pity on Dean. “He’s got _head_ of state business to deal with,” he told Sam. “Why don’t you go on your ride and I’ll have a nice hot bath drawn up for you and we’ll sit and chat while you bathe.” A look at Dean had Crowley rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath, “There’s no pleasing _him_ today.” 

Sam looked wide eyed from Dean to Crowley and back. “Oh,” he murmured, taking a step back. “Okay...well, alright then...” he stammered as he again looked from Dean to Crowley. 

He wasn’t certain what was wrong with Dean but it was obvious that he wasn’t welcome company today and he _had_ been neglecting his friendship with Crowley in favor of doing _things_ , or rather one _thing_ , with Dean. 

“I’ll keep you company, teach you to curse like a bloody sailor, and expand on other lessons... so long as you promise not to faint on me,” Crowley said, gesturing for Sam to walk ahead of him. “As for you, Highness, keep off that third leg.”

Dean almost swallowed his tongue at that.

Sam nodded, but wasn’t at all sure why Crowley brought up teaching him things that would make him faint, he was pretty sure that what he was doing was making Dean very happy. He headed out of the room only to pause at the door and look back at Dean. 

“Will I see you at dinner?” he inquired softly, before heading out of the room with Crowley following close behind. 

“Did he say he’d have me for dinner?” Dean asked.

A passing servant near the door paused. “Sir?”

“Nothing. Just... ah... tell Crowley I want a dinner party. I don’t care who he invites, but I want guests. Lots of them.”

The servant curtsied and left, a bewildered look on her face.

* * * 

Crowley had outdone himself. There were about twenty guests at the small party. He’d made sure to invite several people Sam already knew, and a few of those who had begun to educate him. He’d also invited a few people with a theatrical bent, so dinner had been filled with conversation and laughter.

Afterwards, they’d moved to the large ballroom that opened up to the gardens. A small area had been cordoned off with velvet, and with pedestals and flowers, so that only part of the ballroom was used and there was an intimate atmosphere. 

Plush sofas and chairs were set up in small groupings around coffee tables, and some people had taken to dancing to the music. Dean was glad to see Sam enjoying himself, and caught up in conversation with people. They often laughed and talked to people together, but Sam would slip away now and again, especially when the conversation turned a little to sexual. Sexual banter was an art form in Castica.

Wandering away from the crowd of people that seemed to circle around Dean, Sam looked over the glasses of drinks that were set to one side along a long table. Punch bowls were filled to the brim as well as individual glasses of whatever might interest a guest. 

“Your Highness,” one of the male guests, young and strapping with long ebony hair, dressed to the nines in vibrant colored clothing made of a spandex-like material that clung to his toned body like a second skin, addressed the prince. A mischievous smirk graced his full mouth. “My lovers and I,” he said with a glance from the lady on his left to the young man at his right, “brought you something for the young man you have taken as consort. It’s a special blend, one drop will cause you to want to fuck well into the night,” he said with a knowing chuckle, glancing again at his own lovers, before looking at his Highness. 

“Ecstasy berry?” Dean asked. It was a potent aphrodisiac that could even be dangerous in its concentrated form. It was a hundred times more powerful than a Magdalena, and robbed the drinker of his will if he consumed more than a few drops. It was illegal in many principalities. 

“Of the highest grade,” his guest assured him. 

“Thank you, you’re very kind. Sam doesn’t... I’ll make sure it’s put to good use,” Dean said, making a mental note to tell Crowley to take it to the dungeons and share it with those who would appreciate it.

“Oh, he will, and you will.” Opening his arms, the man wrapped them around his lovers. “It’s time for me to take my kittens home. They’ve imbibed a little and will be needing me soon.”

All three of them bowed and curtsied, before taking their leave.

*

Sam noted a brightly hued pink bottle set to one side of the glasses of champagne and with a glance around to be sure no one was watching him, picked the bottle up and took a whiff of the contents. He was pleasantly surprised at the fruity notes to this mysterious drink. It reminded him of the juice of strawberries and blackberries, sweet and refreshing. With another glance around, to make sure that no one was going to claim the beverage, Sam lifted it to his lips and took a long drink. His nose had not lead him astray as the incredible fruity flavors burst to life on his tongue. As he gulped it down, it seemed to coil warmly in his gut; though he thought that to be a rather odd reaction to a fruit juice. He dismissed it since many things here in Castica were not as they were back home. 

“Ah, there you are. Come on now, his Highness wants you to explain all the tricks you can do on a horse. He’s speaking with Hildy, Lady Hildy, a distant cousin,” Crowley explained, as he ushered Sam to the Prince’s side.

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when Crowley suddenly appeared at his side. He hid the bottle behind his back while his friend spoke, nodding to his words while his heart hammered in his chest, afraid that he’d been caught drinking someone else’s drink. He quickly slipped the empty container back onto the table where he’d found it before walking away from the beverages and over to Dean. 

Dean put his arm around Sam’s back and once again regaled the others with tales about Sam’s prowess on horses. “Tell Hildy how you ride. That trick you do... I don’t want to say it or she’ll think I’m making it up. Hmm?” 

Sam’s breaths strangely began to come faster as he stood and listened, face flushing a deeper red than it had been before that, his skin tingling strangely. He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard as he turned his attention to the very regal looking, albeit scantily clad woman, at Dean’s side. 

“Mmma'am,” he greeted, unable to help the small half moan at the beginning of his words. 

Noticing how flushed Sam was, Dean couldn’t help stealing a kiss.

Sam lifted a hand, running his fingertips over his now burning lips as he stared at Dean for a long moment, thinking back to the dungeons and when those lips had been wrapped around his... He blinked several times to rid himself of the image, yet his cock seemed to still be thinking about it as it swelled and pressed incessantly against the fly of his skin tight trousers. 

“Um, I just... talked to Hercules,” Sam murmured with a shrug of one shoulder. His eyes fluttered closed momentarily at the feel of the silken material sliding against his bare skin. Forcing them back open, he felt his cheeks flush brightly with embarrassment. He had no idea what was coming over him, maybe he was coming down with something. 

“Talked.” Dean laughed and stroked Sam’s back. “I guess he doesn’t want to boast, but you’re welcome to come and watch tomorrow. He’s teaching me to ride standing on a horse’s back,” he said.

“You shouldn’t be taking risks like that,” Hildy said, frowning.

Dean gave a snort and pulled Sam closer. “I can ride anything. Tell them,” he smirked.

Sam’s ass muscles tensed when Dean stroked his back, clenching tightly as the warmth that had coiled in his gut skyrocketed due south into his groin and had his cock pulsing within the tight confines of his pants. Even that small movement of his dick setting his blood on fire and causing him to want to lower a hand and cup himself for fear of coming where he stood. He nervously shifted his weight and glanced at Dean, the look on his face transforming from beseeching to longing the longer he stared and thought about the things that Dean could do with that mouth, the wanton sounds that had broken from the Prince’s throat all the times Sam had pleasured his cock. His tongue darted out, licking across his lips, which felt warm to the touch of his tongue, and the very action across the skin of his lips sent electric type shocks across the sensitive flesh. 

“Tell them,” Dean insisted, turning to find Sam staring intently at him and looking a little like he’d just been sexed up. “Ah... you alright?”

“Of course he’s not. You haven’t taken your consort out for a spin on the dancefloor, have you?” Hildy demanded. 

“No, he doesn’t...” Dean gripped Sam’s hip. “He doesn’t dance our dance,” he finally said, knowing Sam would disapprove of the inevitable groping.

Sam turned his head and looked at Hildy, smiling shyly before returning his attention to Dean. He swallowed hard, not wanting to ruin the Prince’s party but also not at all sure that he _was_ alright. 

“If...if you want to...” he allowed somewhat breathlessly, his voice a bit husky and low, sounding incredibly strange to his own ears, but the burning molten lava that seemed to have pooled in his groin kept him from caring. 

Dean leaned close to Sam’s ear. “Are you sure? Did you see the dancers?” he asked, moving a little so Sam could look at the dance floor. He was sure Sam would want nothing to do with what he saw and would immediately shake his head and change the subject.

Sam stared at the other dancers somewhat aghast at the way they would bump and grind against one another, touching and writhing on the dance floor. Even so, the idea of he and Dean moving like that, grinding their pelvises against one another, sent heat burning through his veins. His cock was growing impossibly harder to the point of near pain. His breath caught in his throat and he squeezed his eyes closed before he bowed his head allowing his feverish brow to lean against Dean’s shoulder. 

“I don’t... okay...” Sam breathed hoarsely, tongue darting out to lick across his parched lips and regretting the gesture the moment his tongue touched them as they tingled and burned. 

“Yeah?” Dean took Sam’s hand and started to pull him toward the dance floor. When they reached it, he noticed Sam tugging on his clothes. He gave Sam a questioning look, then pulled him into his arms. “You look warm You are... warm,” he said, automatically, stepping so his leg was between Sam’s. 

Sam nodded mutely as he struggled to hold back the desire to rut against Dean’s leg, the very idea had his face flushing a brighter shade and his gaze lowering. “It...it’s hot...” he breathed before his head jerked up and his wide eyed gaze met Dean’s. “In here,” he quickly added, throat convulsing as he swallowed hard. “It’s hot in here,” he clarified nervously. 

“Yeah. And you are... hot,” Dean teased. He gave Sam a couple of minutes to get used to being pressed up against him in company, then he started to sway more, to the beat of the music. Though he ran his hand over Sam’s back and lingered over his ass, he barely brushed his body against Sam’s. Just enough to make it appear as if he was dancing the way the others were, but making sure there was a little space between them between the brushes of their bodies. 

Sam’s breaths shuddered out of him as they began to move, the slight brush of Dean’s body against his own had his nipples pebbling instantly and the friction of his silken shirt across them as he moved in return had him nearly ready to either scream or, he was certain, pass out. His eyes nearly crossed at one point as they rolled upward with a low groan before he closed them and bowed his head once again, allowing his forehead to lean against Dean’s. 

When his cock brushed against Dean’s leg and the Prince’s body pressed just a little more firmly against his own, he felt his balls draw up as he grit his teeth and nearly jerked his hand from Dean’s in an attempt to stop what he knew was about to happen. Before he could do any of it, a strangled cry broke from between his lips as he came in his pants. He sucked in an audible breath as he lifted his head, his eyes wide and passion glazed, the pupils dilated with desire as he stared almost shell shocked at Dean. 

“I - I have to go,” he mumbled, worming his way out of Dean’s grip. Turning, Sam ran from the room 

Crowley lifted his head from where he had been ogling the bosom of an attractive blond who wore more jewels than clothing, and watched Sam flee the room. His gaze darted over to Dean who stood staring dumbly after Sam. “Oh bloody hell,” he growled half under his breath, knowing full well that he was about to be summoned any second now to go look after the young master. 

“Crowley!” Dean was still staring at the double doors through which Sam had disappeared.   
“Mind telling me what I did wrong, now? I kept my hands off him. Mostly,” he amended. “I was a perfect gentleman, even by his standards.”

“Mostly,” Crowley supplied. “I did see your hand straying--”

“He seemed to be enjoying it. I’d swear he wanted....” Dean let out a hot breath. “Go in there and see what’s eating him. At least if he throws a vase, it’ll be your head, not mine.”

“Bloody hell...”

“What?”

“I said it’ll be my pleasure, of course,” Crowley said, waving at his lady friend and heading out the door.

*

Once out of the ballroom, Sam made a beeline for the stairs leading to his bedroom. He nearly fell flat on his face twice with the way his running caused his clothing to rub against his overly sensitized skin and had to keep bracing himself against the wall with one hand as he climbed the stairs. 

Tears of frustration blurred his vision and he doubled over as he reached the door to his room, coming yet again. He staggered inside and slammed the door closed as he wrestled himself free of his shirt, allowing it to drop carelessly onto the floor. He plopped down on the bed only to gasp in a sharp breath as his back arched drastically, pulling away from the bedclothes that stirred his blood just by their touch. He slowly lowered back down and reached for the fastenings of his pants, hurriedly undoing them and pushing them down, teeth clenched with his struggles. His breaths panted out harshly as he pushed them and his briefs down to his knees, unable to do more since he had forgotten, in his haste, to be rid of his clothing, to remove his boots. 

Crowley burst into the room, “His Highness says he’s sorry for whatever he did or did not do to make you mad, bla bla bla, oh...” Crowley stopped mid-stride at the sight of Sam writhing on the bed. “Wanted a private moment. I see. Well, I don’t... but I see. I’ll wait for you outside, then,” he said and started to leave.

“Wait!” Sam called out. Turning his head to the side toward Crowley he shook it. “I - What’s wrong with me?” he implored. “Hurts... I think...” he shook his head again, “Something’s wrong...” he breathed, glancing down at his cock standing proudly erect, the tip an angry red hue as precome leaked from the slit. 

“What - what’s wrong with me?” he nearly whined as he returned his troubled gaze to Crowley. “Hurts... the bed... sheets...my clothes...” he panted, his chest, glistening with sweat rose and fell heavily with each word. 

Frowning, Crowley returned. “Look at me,” he demanded, leaning over Sam and running his hand over his forehead. He didn’t miss the heavy breathing, or the sound of the low moans. 

Sam stifled a whimper as Crowley ran his hand over his forehead while he gazed up at the man. He couldn’t help squeezing his eyes closed as another wave of sensation rolled through him and his hips bucked of their own accord. 

“Oh no, no, no... I can’t do _that_ with you. Not that you’re not very attractive, especially when you’re almost naked, but I’ve grown rather attached to my head over the years,” Crowley practically babbled as he pulled away. A suspicion started to form in the back of his mind. “How many Magdalenas have you had?” 

Sam’s eyes opened to Crowley’s words and his brow knitted in confusion before he shook his head adamantly. “None, all I’ve had other than milk with dinner was....” another long groan escaped him and his eyes squeezed closed as he writhed on the bed. 

When his eyes popped back open they were as glazed as a drug addicts, “The fruit juice,” he panted, swallowing hard afterward. The flushed shade of his cheeks seemed to darken before he ducked his head with shame. “I - I took some of the fruit juice,” he confessed breathlessly. “It was on the drink table, I didn’t know it was someone else’s,” he insisted in a rush, his tone still as breathless as ever. His legs continued to shift on the mattress as far as his booted feet and pants would allow while the rest of him continued to writhe wantonly. 

“No juice at the...” Crowley’s eyes widened. “Hold on, you didn’t pinch the pink bottle, did you?” Of course he had, and this explained everything. “Right, I’ll get Dean. Don’t go anywhere. Here,” he grabbed a pillow and put it over Sam’s crotch, pressing it down lightly. 

Sam’s eyes widened and he sucked in an audible breath at the feel of the pillow being pressed to his overly sensitive cock. His head lifted from the bed as his heels dug into it and his hands lowered to the pillow, grasping each side of it. 

“Use it how you need,” Crowley advised, then quickly left the room, giving orders that no one was to walk into the room.

Sam began to rut against the pillow automatically, his eyes rolling back in his head as it crashed back down against the mattress and rolled restlessly from side to side while moans and grunted groans spilled from his throat. 

The next time the door opened, it was Dean striding in with Crowley at his heels. “Sam!” Just as he reached the bed, he saw Sam shudder, the pillow slipping out of his hands. A sheen of sweat clung to Sam’s body and his musky scent filled the room. “How much did you drink?” he demanded, sitting on the bed and gently pulling Sam into his arms.

Crowley answered for him. “Clearly enough that you won’t be enough for him. Sam, you need to give me the name of two or three other people you want to bed. His Highness--”

“Will handle his consort alone,” Dean interrupted. “Go.”

“But...”

“Go, now.”

Crowley bowed. “I’ll send up reinforcements. In case you need...” At Dean’s dark glare, Crowley left the room.

Sam shuddered as Dean pulled him into his arms and he sucked in a sharp breath at the contact. He lifted his flushed face lifted to Dean’s, his eyes unfocused, his pupils lust blown. “I - I didn’t know...” he murmured breathlessly. “It was so good... thought no one would miss one bottle...” 

“Yeah I know. It’s... It’s a very powerful aphrodisiac. It could go on like this for hours.” Dean didn’t want to scare Sam by telling him it might be like this for twenty four hours. “There’s nothing I can do, no magic that can take this away. But I can help you. Every time you find release, you’ll be better for a little while,” he explained. 

The sounds of Sam’s breaths catching, the way he was looking up at him with parted lips, and eyes already growing warm with desire, Dean wasn’t sure he could keep his own lust under control. “I’ll try not to do anything you don’t want. You just have to tell me, okay?” he said. 

Sam’s eyes widened in alarm. He swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes closed against the reality of what he’d done to himself. Slowly opening them again, he nodded and reached up with one hand, pushing the hood away from Dean’s face and tracing the lines of his features lovingly while his eyes searched Dean’s. “I’m sorry,” he apologized softly. His eyes squeezed closed a moment later and his hand fell away from Dean’s face as a long low groan broke from his throat and his hips bucked upward. “Oh God,” he groaned, wiggling restlessly within Dean’s embrace. 

“Sorry for what? Lemme get your pants off,” Dean whispered, dipping his head down and kissing Sam. He wasn’t surprised by Sam’s enthusiastic response. He’d come to expect that, since they did do a lot of kissing these days. The clinging, and the needy sounds, and the pushing up against him... that might have been what he’d wished for on other nights, but not like this... not like this.

Sam gasped in a wanton breath when Dean’s lips met his and he parted his lips hungrily, his tongue darting out to deepen the kiss though Dean kept it rather chaste by comparison. He couldn’t seem to help the way he arched against Dean nor the way he continued to writhe restlessly. He groaned as his fevered eyes followed the movements of Dean’s hands as he moved them to his boots, tugging them off followed by his pants; and rather than simply lifting his hips to aid Dean in removing them, they bucked high when Dean’s fingers brushed against the skin of his hip. 

“Please,” Sam breathed, arching his neck as his eyes slipped closed and his lips parted desirously though he truly had no idea what it was he was begging for. 

Nodding, Dean parted Sam’s knees and dropped down between them. He kissed Sam’s thighs and made his way over to his cock, not taking too much time because he knew what Sam wanted from him now wasn’t kisses. “I’m here. Anything you want, anytime you want,” he whispered, guiding Sam’s cock into his mouth, and sucking hard on it right away. 

A ragged cry broke from Sam’s throat as Dean’s lips wrapped around his throbbing dick and his fingers fisted in the bedclothes as his back arched drastically. He threw his head back as his eyes squeezed tightly closed and his teeth clenched against the ragged, growled sounds that broke from his throat, struggling in vain to keep them in. His head thrashed as wanton mewls broke from his throat and his lips parted with his heaving breaths. His nipples were tight buds and his heels dug into the mattress with each thrust of his hips, mindless of their movements or the fact that he could choke Dean with them. “Oh God, oh yeah, oh God...” he panted in ecstasy, 

Shoving one hand under Sam’s ass, Dean lifted him slightly, and pulled off for a moment. “Put your legs over my shoulder. It’ll give you more control,” he suggested, then firmly grasping the base of Sam’s cock, he took it back into his mouth, and let Sam set the pace. 

Sam did as Dean said and began to thrust hard and fast, loud grunted groans punched from his throat with each thrust of his hips and sweat trickled down from his temples, wetting both his face and the pillow beneath him. He tried to pry away one of his hands from the bed and reach out to Dean only to have a dizzying wave of heat rush through his body to pool hard and tight in his groin causing him to grip the sheets again as his muscles tensed and he strained against the wet warmth of Dean’s mouth. “Oh God, oh God, more...more....oh God, please...” he panted, his head thrashing again. 

Sam’s neck arched once more as he grit his teeth and a long low growl broke from his throat. A tendon in his neck protruded as he squeezed his eyes as tightly closed as he could, white lights exploding behind the lids. With a loud shout he started to come, each ribbon of his spunk hitting the back of Dean’s throat. 

Dean drank Sam’s come down as fast as he could, then climbed up onto the bed, pulling Sam close. “I gotcha,” he whispered, rolling Sam onto his side and spooning behind him. He dropped his hand over Sam’s cock. “I’m right here, when it starts again,” he promised, kissing Sam’s neck. “This isn’t how I wanted your first time...” Technically it wasn’t a first time, but he knew by the time the night was out, Sam would do things he might never want to do when he wasn’t under the influence. “I just... Sammy, I love you,” he admitted, pressing his lips against Sam’s throat. 

Sam lay struggling to catch his breath, sides heaving with the effort. Much of what Dean said to him he didn’t quite hear completely with the way his blood was still rushing in his ears but the last bit, that made it through, at least partly. He turned his head, eyes rolling slightly in his head and his vision unfocused. He swallowed hard and struggled to focus his eyes. “Did you...?” Another wave of heat swamped through him and had his back arching and all thought fleeing his mind other than what his body was telling him. “No,” he groaned on a near whine, “No more...” he panted as he shook his head. “I can’t...” 

“Shshsh... it’s better, easier if you just let it happen. Don’t fight it,” Dean whispered, using the heel of his hand to put pressure against Sam’s dick. Sam was already so hard, it was difficult to believe he’d already seen Sam come three times. He squeezed gently, knowing that by the time the night was out, Sam’s cock would pretty much be as chafed as his own, and trying to avoid that as much as possible. 

Sam’s lips parted and his eyes shot open, his hips bucking his throbbing dick into Dean’s hand as he pressed back against his body. “Please, make it stop,” he begged breathlessly, “Make it stop...” 

“I can’t, I’m sorry baby, but I can’t. Just have to... have to push through it.” He changed his strokes, making them uneven. His own cock was hard, and pressing against Sam’s ass. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying not to worry about his needs and whispering to Sam. “Don’t hold back. Come in my hand, it will feel better.” He couldn’t help the groan that left his lips, or the fact that he was rocking against Sam. 

Sam panted, his chest heaving as his hips continued to rock back and forth. He reached back blindly with one hand and found Dean’s, lacing their fingers together and clinging to him, gripping Dean’s hand hard within his own. His body tensed and his back arched against Dean’s body as a wave of heat shot through his veins to pool low in his gut and, with another loud shout, he was coming again. His breaths hitching between each panted release of breath, breathing raggedly through his orgasm. When it was over, he sagged against the mattress and a thick coat of sweat covered his body from head to foot and wet, damp tendrils of hair clung to his sweaty brow. 

“Oh God, it hurts...it hurts...” he whispered breathlessly. He’d never come that many times in one day let alone back to back and now his balls throbbed and ached after each time. 

“I know,” Dean kept his hand over Sam’s cock but barely touched him. “We’ll go in the tub later. Cool you off a little. There will be longer spaces of time when you feel normal, when you can rest,” he promised. “I’ll be here with you, every time... anytime you need me,” he promised, knowing that those under the influence often got panicked at the thought of finding themselves alone. 

Sam nodded and allowed his eyes to slip closed even as his hand holding Dean’s tightened. “Just...don’t leave me,” he murmured breathlessly. His heart hammered in his chest and his groin ached but at least right now, for the moment he seemed to not be quite as sensitive and was able to relax a little bit. It didn’t last long though before his eyes were popping open again and his mouth was falling slack as his hips seemed to move of their own accord. 

“Oh God!” Sam exclaimed, his fearful panic obvious in his voice. “Dean! Oh God! Not again, please, make it stop!” he cried out, breaths coming in harsh pants once again as he writhed back against Dean’s body. He turned his head, his wild eyes finding Dean’s. “You healed my sister!” he accused, “Heal me!” he demanded. His eyes filled with tears of misery and frustration, “Please!” 

“I can’t. I would if it was possible.” Bringing his mouth down over Sam’s, Dean kissed him deeply, blocking the desperate look in his eyes. Maybe Sam thought he did this to him. Or that he was enjoying it too much to help him break the hold of the drug. But the truth was that Sam wasn’t sick. So there was nothing to cure.

Dean couldn’t help his body reacting to Sam’s motions. Or his desires. Or the fact that he would fuck Sam in a heartbeat, if Sam asked him. The question was, by the harsh light of the morning, would Sam hate him for this? For helping him through the night this way?

As Dean’s mouth met his, Sam turned more toward him, hungrily returning the kiss, thrusting his tongue into Dean’s mouth as he bucked his hips wantonly against Dean’s thigh. He tangled his tongue with Dean’s, dueling with it and when he got the chance, captured it between his lips and sucked it into his mouth as he lifted his head up off the bed, moving his mouth up and down along the length of the muscle with way he would Dean’s dick. His nostrils flared as he struggled to take in breath until he finally had to relinquish his hold on Dean’s tongue and allow his head to fall back, breaking the kiss. He stared hungrily up at Dean, chest heaving with each harsh breath, his cock throbbing just as it had before. He whimpered as he bucked and thrust against Dean’s leg, sliding his hard shaft against Dean’s thigh, precome smearing against Dean. 

“Please... What do I need to do? I’ll do anything, please,” Sam begged breathlessly. 

“Let me take my clothes off. So you don’t hurt yourself,” Dean added, “the material will rub your skin off.” At Sam’s nod, he got up and quickly stripped, his eyes laser focused on the boy writhing in bed. The boy he’d wanted for so damned long.

When he was completely stripped, he crawled on top of Sam, thrusting his hips against Sam’s then rolling them over so Sam was on top. “Let your body tell you what it wants,” he said, stroking Sam’s face, then his back, then his ass. Squeezing it and lifted his hips a little, his eyes locking with Sam’s. “Ride me. Like a horse,” he suggested, half sitting up.

Sam didn’t know why, but he shuddered with need at the suggestion. His lust blown pupils darkened, leaving only a small ring of hazel green around them. Nodding, he pushed himself up, sitting on Dean’s lap. He wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders his hand cupping the nape of Dean’s neck almost tenderly if it weren’t for how often his hand tightened with each wave of heat that rushing through his body. 

“Now...now what?” Sam asked breathily, body trembling with want and need. 

“Ride. Me.” It took all the control Dean had to say the words and not roll Sam over and show him. Instead, he lifted his hips a few times, and gripping Sam’s hips, pulled him forward, so their cocks alternately rubbed together or were trapped between their bodies. “Fuck me, with no hole to put it in.” With Sam’s mind clouded, he needed to be blunt.

Sam nodded, his mouth slack with his heaving breaths. He started to move the way he did while riding, back and forth, moving up against Dean’s body, his hips cantering forward and bucking. His breaths quickened if that were possible to the point that he was close to hyperventilating and his head fell back as he rode the waves of pleasure that crashed through his body. 

“Good... good,” Dean reassured him, locking his arms around Sam and cradling him in the moments when Sam leaned against him. Other times, Sam would move against him in frenzy. Sometimes it gave Dean pleasure. Other times, it just hurt, but he let Sam do what he needed. “That’s it, you’re close,” he whispered, sensing Sam tensing. “Fuck me,” he whispered, knowing the effect the words could have.

Sam gasped. “Oh God...” he groaned as his body tensed further to the point that his back was bowed and his hips pushing brutally hard against Dean’s. “Oh God, Oh God,” he panted and squeezed his eyes tightly closed, his nipples tightening into hard pebbles a second before his cock gave up the first squirt of cum, wetting both his own stomach and Dean’s. 

This time, Dean came with Sam, rocking back against him. Kissing him again. Whispering to him that he was only human. As the last waves of heat receded from him, he used the sheets to clean them both up.

“You want to drink water?” Dean asked, dabbing the sheets over Sam’s brows. 

Sam nodded, his eyelids heavy before he collapsed wearily against Dean. “But don’t leave,” he panted softly, his arm around Dean clinging tighter as his other arm moved to do the same, wrapping around Dean and holding onto him for dear life. 

“Just to the table. I won’t leave you, I promise,” he stroked Sam’s hair and waited until Sam slowly, reluctantly released him. “You should have peace a little longer,” he said, hoping it was true. It wasn’t like everyone reacted the same exact way.

Sam slowly slid off Dean’s lap to sit on the bed though his eyes watched every move that Dean made, fearful that he might suddenly disappear on him and he would be left to endure this alone. 

Dean brought a tall glass of water to the bed. “Drink it all. We don’t want you getting dehydrated.” Sam was still flushed. His eyes soft and unfocused. Just the way Dean had wanted to have Sam. But he’d wanted to be responsible for the flush, and for that just fucked look. 

Sam nodded and gulped the water down, so fast that he choked after a few swallows and had to pull the glass away as he sputtered. Drawing in a breath he went back to drinking until the glass was empty. Handing it back to Dean, he slowly eased himself down onto the bed, slowly rolling onto his back, his body as limp as a rag dolls as he moved, one bent leg flopping to the side, baring everything that there was to see of him. Where he might have cared before, where he might have covered up, he couldn’t seem to find the strength to do so now. He sighed heavily and his eyes blinked slowly as exhaustion tried to pull him under into sleeps warm embrace. 

“Hold me?” he rasped softly, voice hoarse from all the screaming he’d done. 

Setting the glass down, Dean immediately rolled close and held Sam. He knew Sam would get no sleep tonight, but telling him would change nothing. “Nothing to worry about. I won’t leave you for a moment, I promise Sam. I’m right here.” He dropped a kiss on Sam’s shoulder, a little guilty at the thought that while he was sated, Sam would not get his fill for hours upon hours.


	18. Chapter 18

Sam’s eyes popped open no sooner than they had closed it seemed. A tired whimper tore from his throat as his hips bucked yet again. He pushed his body up against Dean’s, rutting against his hip while his arm wrapped around Dean, holding him in place as he tried to pull him closer. 

“Dean,” he whined miserably, “It’s starting again....” 

“M...kay. I’m right here,” Dean whispered, trying to rouse himself from sleep. Feeling Sam grinding against him, he rolled a little to the side, so Sam could straddle his hip. “Try to take it easy,” he suggested. “Not too hard, okay?” Sam had rubbed himself raw all night long already and Dean knew the youth would suffer the consequences.

Another whimper broke from Sam’s throat. “It hurts,” he complained, reaching down with one hand to grip his dick. “How...” he panted, thrusting into his own hand wantonly. “How much longer is this gonna...?” He groaned low and long as his neck arched and he squeezed his eyes closed. 

“I don’t know. It’s getting much longer between each time, it’s a good sign.” Dean rolled Sam onto his back. From the nightstand, he got some lotion and poured it into his palm, then pushed Sam’s hand out of the way, and took over, his hand gliding smoothly over Sam’s reddened hard flesh. He felt Sam’s hot breaths and his own loins stirred. “If it’s any satisfaction, I’ve been horny all night too,” he said thickly.

Sam gave a harsh laugh between groans of pleasure-pain as his chest heaved. He shook his head and reached down to knock Dean’s away. “No, hurts too much,” he panted. “Something else... can you make me come without doin’ that?” 

Dean closed his fingers around Sam’s wrists and pinned them to the bed so Sam couldn’t touch himself either. He started to kiss Sam, moving his mouth down to his throat, and chest, and then licking his nipple. “I can touch you everywhere but there, but it’ll drive you nuts,” he said, dipping his head down and giving his attention to Sam’s other nipple.

Sam cried out, his back arching, pushing his chest toward the wet warmth of Dean’s hot mouth. His breaths became even more ragged and his head thrashed wildly. His cock pulsed and leaked, precome drizzling down the side of his shaft. His tip was a deep, angry red. It twitched and bobbed jealously at the attention the rest of Sam’s body was getting. His hips bucked and rolled as he fucked the air and whimpers and tortured mewls broke from his throat. Tears of frustration blurred his vision between bouts of squeezing his eyes closed. “No, please, more...oh God...” he whined. 

Dean mouthed his way down Sam’s chest to his stomach. He blew hot breaths across Sam’s leaking cock, and kissed very near it. Then he suddenly rolled Sam over onto his stomach. From behind him, Dean parted his thighs. “Don’t argue, and don’t fight me on this,” he said, laying down on the bed and licking a wet line up from Sam’s balls to his hole. He started to lick the sensitive flesh around Sam’s hole, then spearing his tongue, plunged it inside Sam.

Sam wasn’t sure what Dean was talking about, couldn’t even really focus on his words, barely hearing them beyond the rush of blood in his ears, but he nodded just the same as he reached up and grabbed the headboard while rutting shamelessly against the bed. He shivered and pushed back against the wet warmth of Dean’s tongue on his balls then sucked in an audible startled breath as that tongue licked where no one had ever touched him before. His eyes popped open wide before squeezing closed on a low wanton moan. He pushed back against Dean’s tongue and the muscles of his ass flexed, the hole twitching as though inviting Dean to do more. 

Dean had been afraid Sam would balk, but when he reacted in a way that showed he was desperate for this, Dean used every trick he knew to push Sam closer to the edge quickly. He ran one hand over Sam’s body, and used the other to keep his cheeks parted, while he tongued him. Once he was sure Sam was used to the sensation, he slowly eased his finger inside Sam’s hole, right alongside his tongue, using one to get some depth, and the other to so soothe. 

Soft grunted moans broke from Sam’s throat and he struggled between pulling himself away, rutting harder against the bed and pushing back wantonly against Dean’s tongue. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he began to cry, tears streaming down his cheeks with mortification at what he was doing, what Dean must think of him. “I can’t help it...oh God...” a sob broke from Sam’s throat a second before his body tensed and as he bucked his hips hard against the bed, he came hot and hard, smearing his seed between himself and the bed sheets. 

Dean kissed Sam’s ass, then moved up his body. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Nothing. I don’t care what you were taught, none of this is wrong,” he said. “It’s what people do, what they take pleasure from. This, what’s happening to you is extreme because you took too much of the drugs. But I’d do this with you any day.” He kissed Sam’s neck. “Please don’t cry Sam. Please don’t, not because we did this... not because of that,” Dean whispered hoarsely. 

Sam shook his head as he reached for Dean and wrapped his arms tightly around his neck, burying his face against it to hide his embarrassment. He clung tighter as he shivered and wept, the entire time, pressing wet messy kisses against the side of Dean’s neck. 

“Let’s go bathe again. I’ll make sure the water is nice and cool. Would you like that?” Dean eventually asked, after letting Sam cry for a while. “We’ll come back to nice fresh sheets. Maybe you’ll be able to get a little sleep.” 

As much as Sam just wanted to stay where he was, with his face buried against his shame, he nodded not wanting Dean to think that he was not only wanton but dirty too. He shuddered as he slowly released his death grip on Dean and lifted his head, his hands sliding along Dean’s shoulders. 

Kissing him chastely, Dean got off the bed and waited for Sam. Seeing him take a ginger step forward, Dean swept him into his arms and lifted. “I’m famous for my strength and for carrying extra tall handsome young men about the castle,” he teased, as he walked down the hall to the bath chamber. 

Once they were in the bathing chamber, Dean gave a verbal command. “Water... body temperature,” he ordered. They stood near the edge of the bathing pool, its waters swirling to meet his command.

Standing in front of Sam, Dean ran his hand over Sam’s face, then lightly rubbed his thumb across his swollen lips. “Today will pass, I promise you,” he whispered.

Sam nodded, but lowered his eyes, uncertain that his shame would ever pass. He had no idea how to make this up to Dean, had no idea where to even begin, but he would. Pa use to always say that a man had to own up to his mistakes and he would do just that, he vowed. 

When the waters stilled, Dean took Sam’s hand and walked down the stairs into the water. “Do you want some orange juice? We can relax here for as long as you want,” he said. “And if you’re hungry, we can have breakfast right here. Now I’m not saying we won’t be the talk of the town for that,” he warned.

Sam shook his head from side to side, keeping his eyes lowered. 

Easing them to the ledge, Dean sat down and pulled Sam over his lap. “There’s a little lodge at the far edge of the castle lands. Crowley reminded me about it,” he said, holding Sam and caressing him, comforting him the only way he could. “It’s in a state of disrepair, but I could have it fixed up. Maybe you and I could spend a few nights there, alone. Of course if I’m needed, I’ll be summoned but.... Would you like that? You, me, and the horses.”

Sam’s heart clenched in his chest at what Dean was offering. Even after all this, he still wanted to be with him? His head jerked up, eyes wet with tears as he searched Dean’s. 

“You mean it?” he croaked hoarsely. 

“It would be hard to give up Crowley...” A smile tugged at the corner of Dean’s mouth. 

Sam chuckled through his tears and threw his arms around Dean’s neck. “I thought after this that you’d...” he allowed his sentence trail off and buried his face against Dean’s neck instead, his face flushing brightly once more. 

“That I’d what?” Dean lifted his head. “Ask you to do some of the things I did for you? Well, I’m not promising I won’t ask. But you can always say ‘no,’” he said giving Sam a wink with his good eye.

Sam’s brow creased and he shook his head, his eyes widening slightly. “You mean... But you’re... I didn’t think...” he stammered not understanding this at all. Dean was actually enjoying what he had done? Sure they’d done some of it before but the last thing... And he might have seen it done that day when he was with Crowley in the dungeons, but those were just regular folks doing those things to each other, not a prince like Dean. 

“Yeah, I don’t like to think through sex, either. It’s much better when you just feel it,” Dean said, even though that wasn’t how Sam meant it. Kissing Sam’s cheek, he decided Sam needed juice after all. “Crowley!”

Crowley almost immediately appeared with a rolling tray of every juice imaginable and some pastries.

“Now you can...” Dean started.

“‘Go,’ yes, I know. After all these years, I can read your mind. Highness. Young master,” Crowley gave a formal bow and left.

“I think he’s gone mad. Don’t you?” Dean asked.

Sam grinned and shook his head, “You really do kinda say the same things to him all the time,” he allowed with a one shouldered shrug. 

His gaze found Dean and his tongue darted out licking across his lips and sort of bracing himself as he did so, thankful that it wasn’t as bad as it had been before whenever he did that. Now it was only a slight tingle, but nothing he couldn’t endure. 

“Earlier, I meant... I thought you might... I mean what you did before... when I was on my stomach,” he face flushed a brilliant shade of red and he ducked his head somewhat shyly. “I thought you’d hate me for having to do that,” he confessed. 

“I don’t. I thought you might hate me. For not being able to … you know... control how I feel. Enjoying you.” Dean held his breath, unsure how Sam would feel about that. He’d thought it had been obvious, but since it hadn’t been, he needed to put it out there, on the table. 

Sam searched Dean’s face. “The _other_ things weren’t anything we haven’t done already.” 

“So then, why are you worrying? You already know I like it. All of it,” Dean stressed, seeing a shadow creep into Sam’s eyes. “That thing I did, it feels real good in the water. So if you ever want it... just saying,” he grinned, “So innocent. So damned innocent.” 

Sam’s lips curved upward even as he ducked his head sheepishly and blushed a ferocious shade of red. He lifted his head and his lips parted to ask the question that had been burning in his mind since they’d gotten in the water and Dean had sat him down on his lap, but he’d been too embarrassed to ask it. His mouth snapped shut and opened again. He had to try several times and he knew he must look like a fish out of water, but he couldn’t help it. His features slowly took on a deep crimson stain as he parted his lips and quickly blurted his question without taking a breath between words. “Whydidn’tyoudowhatIsawthosetwomendointhedungeon?” 

“Hmm?” Dean brushed his knuckles across Sam’s mouth. “There’re so many things we can do, that’s just one of them. I did what I thought might please you. I _know_ that I could pleasure you that way too, but... I’ll wait until you want to try it. I mean want it for real, not because of any drugs.”

Sam nodded as he tried to absorb what Dean was saying. He lowered his gaze shyly however, feeling again like a fool as well as like some sort of wanton for even asking. He cleared his throat and turned his head toward the door before looking back at Dean. “Do you wanna get out now?” he inquired softly. 

“Don’t you find the water soothing?” Dean reached for the soapstone and started to soap Sam’s back and hair. “You’ll feel a lot better,” he promised. They’d already bathed a few times that night, but Sam had sweated and had been coated with spunk, just as Dean had.

“Get on the step,” he said, and finished washing Sam, then soaped himself quickly. When they got out, instead of shouting for Crowley to get towels, he brought them himself, wrapping one around Sam.

Then he grabbed a glass of juice off the tray and pushed it into Sam’s hand. “Drink it. All of it,” he ordered. 

Sam lowered his gaze to the glass then looked back at Dean. He found a place to set it down and rather than drink, he threw himself into Dean’s arms. “I love you,” he murmured against the skin of Dean’s neck. 

“Wha--” Startled, it took Dean a few seconds to close his arms around Sam and hold him close. “The juice was that sweet?” His heart was beating hard, he was holding his breath, and he could barely believe his ears. 

Sam shook his head, his face still buried against Dean’s throat. He stayed like that for a minute or two longer before pulling his head back so that he could look into Dean’s eyes. “I love you,” he repeated softly. 

Dean slanted his mouth over Sam’s. Kissed him. Kissed him again. And a third time, whispering that he loved Sam too. Then he added, “Love you. _Only_ you.” 

* * * 

Each time Dean had gone to their suites, he’d found Sam still in a deep sleep, or barely able to wake up to accept a bit of food and drink, and then he’d quickly fall back into a deep slumber. The healers had said he would be fine, and that was good enough for Dean.

Now, he and Crowley were at the lodge, and he was giving orders about what he wanted changed and fixed up. In the middle of it all, he stopped suddenly and turned to Crowley. “He told me he loves me.”

“He what?” Crowley waved his hand in the air, “Bleeding hell man, why did you wait so long to say something.”

Dean raised a stern eyebrow.

“I mean ‘Highness’ of course,” Crowley said quickly.

“Of course.”

“Anyway, we’ve all said a thing or two in the heat of passion,” he watched Dean carefully.

“No, there was no passion happening.”

“No passion?” Crowley’s brows snapped together. “You have lost your touch if you can’t stir up a bit of passion with the help of ecstasy...”

“Don’t be an idiot. It was after. Look, believe it if you like or don’t. But he said the words. And...”

“And?”

“And nothing changed.” Dean went and leaned against the mantle of the chimney. “We’re still frozen in time.”

“Right well... we’ve been frozen for a long time. Might take a bit of time to thaw the curse,” Crowley said.

“Yeah. Maybe. Maybe nothing will break it.”

“Well then, look at the bright side. You’ve found yourself a consort who loves you. Will he be needing less clothes now?”

Dean shook his head. “Get out.”

“But don’t you want the place fixed?”

Sighing, Dean walked out of the lodge.

* * * 

Sam rolled over in bed, one hand searching the mattress next to him for the warmth of Dean’s body. When he found nothing there, his eyes shot open and he sat up in the center of the large bed, looking around the room. Lifting a hand, he wiped the sleep from his eyes and yawned. Throwing back the blankets and sheet, he started to get out of bed only to wince and as he stood, found that the only halfway comfortable position to walk in was with his legs spread wide apart. He waddled to the privy and did his business, wincing because he had to hold his cock to aim. Once he’d finished and had brushed his teeth like Dean had taught him and cleaned himself up a bit, he waddled out and into his bedchamber to try and find something loose to wear. That was like asking for a miracle. Grabbing a shirt he slipped it on, a royal blue that accentuated his tanned skin, and then pulled on a loose fitting pair of boxers but after that, he was at a loss. Going to the door, he pulled it open far enough to stick his head through.

“Crowley!” he bellowed, grinning like a lovesick fool when he realized that he sounded a bit like Dean. 

“Yes your Highness, oh, it’s just you, young master.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “Well now, your taste in clothing is improving. “I suggest a bowtie to go with the shorts, open shirt. No shoes,” he said.

Sam frowned, “I can’t find anything that’s _not_ tight and I _can’t_ wear tight,” he explained with a shake of his head. “Not today. Can you help me?” 

“Right, well, you look fine and dandy just as you are but... how about some loose fitting jeans that ride low on the hips?” He moved into the closet and pulled out the pants.

Sam reached for them with a creased brow, “Um, yeah okay, so long as they don’t rub my... _tallywhacker_ ,” he said, whispering the last word. 

“Ah... You’re chafed.” Crowley gave a knowing nod, took Sam by the wrist, and marched him across to Dean’s room. He pulled open the top drawer of a chest and pulled out an ointment. “Here, this is the elixir the healer gave his Highness for his condition. Do you need help applying it? I’ll call the healer,” he offered. “Word is everyone’s to keep their hands off your willy.” 

“Huh? What?” Sam asked as he pulled his wrist free, staring at the tube then at Crowley. 

“What was wrong with Dean’s tallywhacker? And who’s been talking about my willy?” 

“What’s wrong with it? Hmm, let me see. It’s red like yours must be from the way you’re walking? Check. Has it been overstimulated by someone? Check. Could that someone be anyone other than his consort? No, I would have known if he shared his bed with anyone else. So when his Highness has issues with a chafed cock... “He waved towards Sam with flourish.

“As for your willy, it is reasonably safe to say anyone caught touching it will lose their head. I came to that conclusion on my own, there’s no... willy information posted on bills or anywhere,” he promised. “And I do know what you’ve been on and who’s been helping you and why you’ve slept the day away. Right, now we’ve established I’m brilliant. Go take care of your willy... absolutely no wanking in the bathroom, and I’ll have your clothes laid out for you.”

Sam’s blush started crawled up his neck and face, up to his hairline. He nodded and dropped his gaze shyly for a moment before looking back up at Crowley as he took the ointment from his hand. “More like we’ve established that you can be a horse’s patoot,” he grumbled under his breath as he headed into the privy. 

“A horse does not have a patoot. It’s an arse. Not that I’m one,” Crowley answered, frowning at the realization he’d been insulted. “Jug head,” he threw out, before leaving.

Inside the bathroom, Sam pulled the front of his boxers down and carefully spread the cream along his sore shaft before tightening the cap on the tube of ointment and setting it aside. He pulled his pants back up and went to the sink to wash his hands. Once he’d finished and had them dried, he snatched the tube back up and headed for Dean’s room to put the stuff back into the drawer.

Then he headed to his own room and was glad to see the pants that Crowley had promised him. Pulling the jeans on, with only a few hissed breaths and winces while doing so, he fastened them up. They seemed to be rather comfortable, especially if he walked the way he had been, with his legs spread slightly. He sat down on the side of the bed to pull on socks and shoes, then headed downstairs in search of Dean, and maybe some food. 

A servant started following Sam. “Excuse me, master Sam, but are you alright?” she asked. “Are your legs giving you problems? Should I get the healer for you?”

“Huh?” Sam grunted as he turned. His eyes widened as he realized what she was talking about and vigorously shook his head. “N-n-no, I’m fine,” he promised. “Crowley, he - he uh, already gave me something,” he assured with a nod and a weak faked smile. 

Hand on her hip, she watched him take a few steps and tsk tsk’d. “I’ll call some lads to carry you,” she offered, starting to run past him.

Sam’s eyes widened, “Carry me?” he echoed. “No, wait, come back! I don’t need to be carried, it’s not _that_ bad.” 

In the span of three minutes, a dozen people converged on Sam. Servants, healers and two men with thickly muscled arms. The two men bent down in front of Sam, crossing their arms together to form a seat for Sam.

“Where would you like us to take you, Master Sam?” One of the men asked.

“Where does it hurt? I should perform a full examination or his Highness shan’t be pleased,” a healer interjected.

Sam shook his head, a horrified look on his face. “I - I’m fine,” he stammered before turning his attention to the two men. Again he shook his head. “No - no, I couldn’t possibly,” he declined, backing slowly away. “I’ve been in more pain than this after workin’ out in my Pa’s fields,” he insisted. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I just wanna know where Dean is,” Sam begged the small crowd. “That’s it, no healer, no....um, man-made _arm_ chair, nothing else, just that.” 

The sound of a ruckus from somewhere deep in the castle sounded. There was some shouting, then the sound of booted feet running down the corridor.

Dean and two of his warriors arrived, fully armed and ready to slay anything that moved the wrong way. Dean came to a sudden stop and looked over the assembled group, his gaze moving to Sam a few times before he sheathed his sword. 

“What is the nature of the emergency? The alarm bells sounded,” he said as patiently as he could, given that he’d thought Sam’s life was in danger.

Sam shook his head, “I didn’t do it,” he quickly said, feeling much like a kid being found next to a spilled on the floor. He pointed at the others and shook his head innocently. “It wasn’t me,” he reiterated. “I just came out to find you, that’s it.” 

Suddenly everyone was talking and pointing fingers until Dean shouted, “Enough! Everyone back to whatever it is you were doing.”

Everyone scurried away to their duties, leaving Dean and Sam alone in the hall.

“Well, you do make an entrance,” Dean said shaking his head. “Are you well?” He searched Sam’s face, unsure about how much Sam remembered of last night and this morning, and whether they were still in the same ‘place.’ Morning afters never seemed good for them, so he was a bit wary of giving in to optimism.

Sam’s face took on a crimson tone at Dean’s inquiry. “Sore, but...” he admitted, his gaze roaming lovingly over Dean’s features. “And you?” 

“A little afraid of what today will bring,” Dean answered honestly. “That... the things you said might have been influenced by the drug.” He licked his lips, and added, “But hopeful.”

Sam’s brow creased. “What...?” he began only to realize what his Prince was talking about. “You think that I told you that I loved you just because I was....” he let his words trail off though his face flushed brightly enough to finish the sentence for him. He shook his head, “You?” he asked hesitantly. 

“No. No,” Dean emphasized, taking a few long steps to close the distance between them and take Sam into his arms. “I know my mind, and I have not changed it. I love you,” he said, lowering his mouth over Sam’s, kissing him with all the hope he felt blooming in his heart.

Sam returned Dean’s kiss, parting his lips for him and tangling his tongue with his lover’s. His heart soared at the fact that he although he might have been made to come here against his will, he had found love, a love much like the kind he’d hoped to find. The only difference was that Dean was not a woman, but that didn’t matter to him, not anymore. He’d learned here that the God of his youth was not as judgmental as he had been lead to believe. 

When their lips parted, a weight was lifted from Dean’s shoulders and he could breathe much easier. Dean put his hand out. “Let’s go visit the horses, then get you a meal. Your Hercules has been very testy today, if even half of what the stable hands say is true.” 

Sam’s brow creased, “Why? I mean, usually there’s a reason why a horse gets testy. Something must be wrong,” he concluded. 

“I guess he’s just temperamental. Note, I wasn’t a jug head - I didn’t say ‘like his owner.’” Grinning, Dean started to walk down the corridor hand in hand with Sam. 

Sam’s frowned at Dean’s remark, but there was a playful smile in his eyes as he allowed Dean to take his hand and lead them down the hall toward the door leading to the stables. 

He glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye as they walked and a smirk tugged at his lips. “Crowley thought I was you earlier,” he commented. “It’s because I was yelling for him like you do,” he explained. 

“Finally, emulating someone worthy. Much better than mimicking _him_ ,” Dean said with approval. “And I don’t yell. I speak with a certain authority.” Giving Sam a look, he stopped at the doors and undid his belt, passing his sword to a servant. 

Then they were outside the castle and headed for the stable. Dean had noticed Sam’s gait. It was all too familiar, since he’d been in the same state a short time ago, and his cock wasn’t completely recovered. “I could... carry you,” he suggested. 

Sam’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Why does everyone want to carry me today?” he asked incredulously. “I’m _fine_. Yeah okay, so my tallywhacker’s sore, but it’s not the end of the world, I’m not dying. I really don’t think you can die of anything related to your tallywhacker.” 

“You promised not to call _it_ that,” Dean said dryly.

“Fine, _willy_ ,” Sam huffed. 

“Not _that_ either.” Dean looked up to the heavens and took a deep breath. “Cock, dick, penis. Pick one. Stick with it. It won’t kill you and it will help me keep my sanity. Really.”

“What about _manhood_?” Sam asked. “I read that in a novel in the library once. And does that mean a lady’s privates are called her womanhood? ’Cause they sure didn’t call it that in the book.” 

Dean looked at Sam in frustration. “‘My “manhood” is hard. I want your “manhood” inside me.’ No, it just doesn’t ‘work’... doesn’t work for me at all,” he let out a sigh, and ignored the rest of Sam’s question as he lengthened his strides. 

Sam’s brow creased as he struggled to keep up with Dean, “I don’t think you’re supposed to _say_ that it’s hard. I think that’s supposed to kinda be a given. And she actually didn’t _call_ it anything, the narrator did. In fact, the guy didn’t even call it anything, he just told her to ‘touch it’.” 

“I don’t care. I don’t care what she called it. I don’t care what the narrator called it. And I freaking don’t care what the guy called it. It’s really simple. I don’t want to hear those words, they... they affect me all wrong, alright? We don’t need to make this into a huge discussion.” Running his hand over his face, Dean was never so happy to see the stables. 

“Dean,” Sam murmured softly as he stared at him, his eyes wide, slightly taken aback at the way he’d gone off on him like that. “Are you mad at me?” he nearly squeaked. 

“No. I’m just _done_ with this topic. It’s like if I called Hercules your ‘mouse.’ You’d tell me to call him a horse or a stallion. And then if I asked, well why can’t I call him a tsetse fly, or how about a nurple... just how long can that conversation go on?” Letting out a breath, he looked over at Sam. “C’mon, let’s go see your horsey.”

Sam hadn’t meant to rile Dean up like that. He sighed and nodded and as they walked, glancing over at Dean. “It’s horse, but if you wanna call him that,” he nodded. “I like it. Hey, horsey, horsey, horsey,” he greeted Hercules as they stopped in front of his stall and Sam walked on in. 

Standing at the entrance, Dean intentionally knocked his forehead against the frame of the door a couple times. Patience. He was running out of it. Quickly.

“Careful with him, ‘es not having a good day,” a stable hand called out to Sam.

“Maybe someone called his powerful dick a pee pee,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Some carrots for Sam.” 

Sam looked over at Dean, brow knitted in confusion. “Carrots for me?” he inquired. “Oh to feed to Herc,” he gave a nod. 

Turning his attention back to his horse, Sam murmured comforting words to him while stroking his neck and holding his bridle so he could look Hercules in the eye. 

“Why don’t you bring him out? Maybe let him walk around?” Watching the horse, Dean could see it was filled with nervous energy, even though Sam was keeping it under control. Just as he took a step to get in the stall with them, the horse swished its tail and slapped him across the face.

“Fuck... the hell... not again,” Dean grumbled, putting his hand up and ensuring the stable hands running his way that he was fine and could deal with a horse’s tail. “He really doesn’t like me.”

Sam’s lips curved into a smirk as he looked up at Dean. He fought not to laugh but it was a hard won battle. “Nah, maybe he just needs to walk, like you said,” he allowed. “Come on, boy,” he urged, giving the bridle a tug as he turned the horse around the headed out of the stable. “Since I’m takin’ him out if you want, I could teach you a few things,” he offered. 

Since Sam was a little sensitive about his chafed cock issues, Dean decided not to bring it up, especially with so many others milling around. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, heading to Tempest’s stall and giving a whistle she’d recognize.

Hercules broke free of Sam’s grasp and rushed forward, pushing Dean out of his way as he hurried into Tempest stall. What came next was a shock to those watching. Herc pushed inside and the two horses nuzzled, their heads close together, tails swishing in rhythm to one another’s movements. 

Sam’s lips curved into a wide grin, “Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle, Herc’s in love,” he announced with an actual giggle. 

Dean was cursing up a storm and pointing into the stall, “... and that’s it, Herc is banished. He gets his own stable... somewhere far from me... and from my horse...” his angry rant petered out when he saw Sam’s smile and notice the horses nuzzling. “Still... he needs to show me more respect,” Dean said, with far less conviction.

“I’ll try to get Crowley to teach him to say, ‘Yes Highness’ when you enter,” Sam quipped playfully with a wink as he rushed past Dean, nearly knocking him over as badly as the horse had in his rush to get to the two animals.

“And to keep his tail out of my face,” Dean added, rolling his eyes. “Tempest,” he nodded at his horse. When she merely looked at him and then went back to nuzzling Hercules, Dean let out another sigh. “Your horse is a bad influence on mine.”

“No, my horse and yours are in love,” Sam corrected, his lips slowly curving into a wide smile. “Like us.” 

“Horses don’t... alright... they’re in love, just get them out here,” Dean said. “And keep your horse’s tail in check.” He gave a small laugh at how that sounded and shook his head. 

When Sam led his horse out, Dean threw a bridle on it, shooing the stable hands away. “So... no saddle, right?”

Sam shook his head, “Nah, I never learned on one really. My Pa could only afford the one so I just didn’t bother.” 

Taking Tempest’s bridle, Dean led her out, despite her efforts to wait for Herc. “I won’t have any insubordination,” he warned his horse. Once they were outside, he mounted and settled down on her back. It was certainly not as comfortable as when riding on a saddle, but Sam had shown him it was easier to do tricks with a bare back horse.

Walking Hercules out behind Dean, Sam watched him mount before swinging up to do the same on Hercules. He grimaced in pain when his ass hit the horse’s back, his cock and balls jarring as he swung up. Once he was seated however it wasn’t as bad so he dismissed the pain rather than mentioning it and flicked Hercules’ reigns, walking him up to stand beside Dean’s horse. As the horse moved, Sam grimaced again and had to reach down and readjust himself. 

“By the stream?” Dean asked, tightening his knees around his horse and suddenly taking off without waiting for an answer. He rode off at a full gallop, leaning forward and enjoying the wind in his face. Occasionally, he looked behind him, wondering at the fact that Sam wasn’t making a play to take over and get to the stream first.

Sam had initially tried to give chase but ended up pulling back on the reigns and stopping because of the pain that shot through his groin and had him nearly doubling over. He set Hercules to follow at a slow trot, and had to either lift himself off the horse’s back a little or cushioning his aching dick and balls with his hand. 

When he reached the stream, Dean tugged on the reins and turned around, cocking his head at Sam’s slow approach. As Sam neared and Dean saw him protecting his privates, he tried very hard not to laugh. But when Sam finally reached him, he had to say, “Today may not be a good day for riding. I have some ointment that may help...”

“Yeah, Crowley already took care of it, but...” Sam muttered with a sigh as he lowered his gaze to his hand. Lifting it back to Dean’s, he pressed his lips together and gave a nod. “Yeah, maybe we better wait,” he agreed. 

Dean gave a short laugh, but sobered quickly. “One day we’ll be able to laugh about this,” he predicted. “It’s ah... quite a predicament.”

Sam quirked a brow, “Is that why you were walkin’ funny before?” He eyed Dean speculatively. “I didn’t mean to... ya know... you just seemed to like it...” he explained as his features turned a decidedly bright shade of scarlet. 

“Was I? Walking funny?” Dean gave a snort, “Yeah, I do like it. Maybe too much for my own good.” He rode his horse closer, so he was alongside Sam. “It’s like a delicious dessert. You know, when you can’t stop eating...?”

Sam nodded, his blush deepening though his lips curved into a smile. “Sorry,” he offered gently. “About.... you know...” He was silent a long moment before looking back over at Dean, “So I was thinkin’, we should probably get married soon. We could use the cabin you talked about for our honeymoon,” he suggested. 

Dean put his hand out, and when Sam gave him his hand, Dean kissed it. “Two weeks. That should be enough time for the shock to wear off. Marriage. It’s quite a scandalous notion,” he said, knowing it was the opposite in Sam’s culture. 

Sam’s lips curved into an amused grin and it was only after he’d searched Dean’s eyes that his brow creased incredulously. “Seriously?” he inquired with amazement. He chuckled and shook his head, “You people are weird,” he laughed. 

“You have no idea. Oh, be prepared for the wedding gifts. Let’s just say... blow jobs are on the mild side of the gifts.” Giving Sam a wicked grin, he took off, back towards the stables.


	19. Chapter 19

A few nights later, they were on the large sofa in the small reading room. There were lots of pillows behind Dean’s back and his legs were stretched out across the sofa. Sam was in the same position, sitting between his legs and using Dean’s chest as a pillow.

For over an hour, Sam had been reading to him, showing him how much progress he’d made with his lessons. At some point, Dean became more interested in other things. He brushed his mouth along the side of Sam’s neck. The fire seemed to suddenly come to life, burning a little brighter in the fireplace.

Dean hand strayed across Sam’s stomach, lingering for a little while before it strayed under his shirt, finding warm, taut flesh. He blew in Sam’s ear and wiggled a little.

Sam’s attention was drawn away from the book. He tilted his face upward toward Dean’s, looking up at him. “You aren’t even listening anymore,” he accused, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He closed the book and dropped it on the large mahogany coffee table. Returning his attention to Dean, he smiled up at him. “The wedding’s in a week, surely you can remain abstinent until then,” he said, knowing full well Dean was going to put up a fuss at the idea. 

“What? Sam... What did you say?” Dean demanded, suddenly sitting a little straighter, his hand pressing harder against Sam’s stomach. “Crowley did _not_ say anything about some... some... abstaining tradition. I mean once you’ve already.... you know... jumped over that fence.”

Sam’s smile grew and a chuckle bubbled out that quickly turned into a rousing laugh.   
“Well, actually it’s _my_ people’s tradition,” he said. “But since I’m not at home...” 

“No. You’re definitely _not_ at home,” Dean said. “You’re here, in my arms, and there’s no way... no, just no. Don’t even joke about it. Kiss me,” he demanded, wanting proof that Sam wasn’t going to go through with a hair brained idea at Dean’s expense. 

Sam leaned in and once his mouth was a hair’s breadth from Dean’s, lowered his eyes to his lover’s full lips, his own curving into a teasing smile before he pulled his head back and returned his gaze to Dean’s. “You know, they say it’s supposed to make the honeymoon all that more exciting.” 

“Oh God... Crowley hasn’t been talking to you about chastity devices, has he? I’m going to wring his neck,” Dean threatened. “Come back here. That wasn’t a kiss. That was a tease.” Sliding his hand up Sam’s chest and neck, he cupped his jaw and brought him closer.

Sam all but giggled at Dean’s reply. “How do you know I’m not wearing one now?” he asked before allowing Dean to pull him close for a kiss. He twisted around and teased the corners of Dean’s lips with his tongue before slipping it into his lover’s mouth, tangling it with Dean’s own while allowing his hand to slide slowly down Dean’s chest and abdomen to his crotch, cupping it lightly at first before giving a firm yet gentle squeeze. 

Dean gave a small groan, kissing Sam harder as he felt the heat ignite inside him. “I forbid it,” he said, between kisses. “I’ll have every last device burned.” Course, knowing Sam’s rebellious streak, he immediately moved his own hand over Sam’s dick. “Mmm, nice and accessible. Did Crowley give you the tear-off pants I ordered for you?”

Sam nodded as he pulled his head back marginally. “I burned them,” he responded before leaning in before Dean could retort, slanting his mouth purposefully over Dean’s. 

“You b--” Closing both arms around Sam, Dean deepened the kiss, slowly maneuvering so they could roll over. It wasn’t very graceful, but he managed to find himself over Sam, kissing him and groping him, even as Sam’s hands roved over his own body. “What did I do before you, Sammy?” he asked, his heart swelling at the thought of the rest of his life would be spent with him. 

“Had a lot of bad luck?” Sam offered helpfully with a lift of his brows and a teasing smile curving his lips as he gazed adoringly up at his Prince. 

“Had no hope.” Dean kissed him. “Had a frozen heart.” Kissing him again, he sucked Sam’s lower lip into his mouth and slowly released it. “And didn’t believe in miracles. The sort you don’t create yourself,” he whispered. It was true that he’d found Sam and used his magic to bring him to his world, but it was nothing short of a miracle that they’d fallen for each other as different as they were. They’d fallen so hard, that each was willing to give up the ‘truths’ they’d been taught. Dean would be monogamous, he’d made Sam that promise, and he would never break Sam’s trust. And Sam had shared the joys of his body, even though everything about their relationship would be thought of as the ‘work of the devil’ in his world. 

Sam’s lips curved into a smirk. “So, I guess the surprise I was planning for our wedding night’s not necessary anymore?” 

“Surprise? What... are you up to?” Dean asked, brushing his lips over Sam’s. “Do I need to torture it out of you?” Dipping his head, he nipped Sam’s throat. “Because I can, you know? Remember when you doubted I could make you shout my name?” 

Sam chuckled and wiggled himself away from Dean’s mouth though he didn’t go far. “That’s not fair,” he responded. “And yeah, maybe I’ve been studyin’ up on things... Your kind of _things_.” 

“My kind of things?” Dean cock was paying attention to every word and getting harder as Dean tried to imagine what things Sam was studying up on. “What things... exactly?” he asked, his heart thudding against his chest. “Feathers? Candy? I know... whipped cream.”

“Feathers?” Sam inquired incredulously. “What the bloody hell am I gonna do with a feather, tickle your ass with it?” he asked. He blinked a moment as he lifted his gaze and stared off thoughtfully. “Wait, that’s not such a bad idea.” 

He’d read things regarding a person’s hole and how sensitive people were there, how easy it was to stimulate them that way. Maybe tickling Dean’s ass with a feather wasn’t such a totally bizarre concept after all. Not in the grand scheme of things, around here anyway. He lowered his gaze back to Dean and shook his head, “But no, that hadn’t been my idea actually.” 

“Scarves? Red ones? Silk?” Dean asked, running his hand through Sam’s hair. “What have you been studying?” Slanting his mouth over Sam’s, he kissed him senseless. “Tell me.”

Sam smiled drunkenly up at Dean and it took a minute for him to be able to remember just what exactly they had been talking about. “Oh...” he shook his head. “No, not red scarves. Besides, you like red, not me. I’m more partial to green and since I’m going to be the one doing it _to you_... And you can keep asking me all the way to the altar, I’m not gonna tell you, it’s a surprise.” 

“You don’t tell me and I’ll... I’ll... I’ll wear a butt ugly shade of green vinyl from head to toe, all the way to the altar,” Dean mock threatened. “I’ll fire Crowley. I’ll...”

Sam chuckled as he shook his head and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against Dean’s lips to shut him up. “You’ll...” he murmured before kissing him again, “wait,” he kissed him again. “And be nice,” he kissed him again. “About”, and again, “it.” 

“Yes, master Sam.” Dean smiled against Sam’s lips. “People are going to talk. They’re going to say you have me wrapped around your dick.” 

Sam snorted and wrinkled his nose with distaste. “It’s not a very pretty picture, is it? Finger, finger’s better,” he said with a sage nod. 

“Wrapped around your finger?” Grabbing Sam’s wrist, Dean sucked Sam’s middle finger into his mouth and sucked on it suggestively. “I can see it working,” he finally said. “But let’s see how I look wrapped around your dick... just to be sure...”

With that, he slowly worked his way down Sam’s body, peeling his clothes away, kissing and licking him, and finally reaching the waistband of his pant. “Mmm, Crowley’s getting a raise,” he announced, tugging on the pants just right, so the entire crotch area separated off the rest of the pants. “Oh yeah...” 

Sam gasped in a soft breath, still not as thrilled about the clothing of this new world, his new world yet. He allowed his eyes to slip closed as his head tilted back against the couch’s soft pillows and sighed softly. “Well now you’ve opened them, what are you gonna do about it?” he asked with a teasing smirk. 

“How loud do you want to scream?” Dean asked, with an evil twinkle in his eyes as he lowered his mouth to show Sam just how wicked the Prince of Castica could be.

* * * 

Crowley brought a tray of finger sandwiches into the music room, where Sam was relaxing. “Tea time,” he announced, pouring a cup of tea.

Sam glanced toward Crowley only briefly before returning his stunned and horrified gaze back to the mirror in his hands. He slowly shook his head in denial of what he was seeing, his father sick and frail laying in his bed while his sister and Elizabeth tended to him. 

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he sniffled softly before replying, “No,” he breathed hoarsely as a single tear coursed slowly down one cheek. He turned his head, looking at Crowley who stood staring at him like he’d lost his bloody mind. “I have to go home,” he whispered brokenly. 

“What now? Is this ‘cold feet’ that you’re getting?” Crowley asked, concerned for more than one reason. “Why don’t you have a bite to eat and some nice tea, and we’ll talk about it. If it’s your wedding night that’s scaring you, I’ll make sure the Prince is on his best behavior. But let’s not tell him I have that much power over him,” he said. “Come on now...”

Sam shook his head, “It’s not that, it’s my Pa,” he muttered almost woodenly. “Dean has to send me back. Pa’s sick, I have to go to him, _now_!” 

Crowley’s gaze dropped to the fancy mirror next to Sam and he frowned. “Where did you get that?” He knew that it was unlikely that Dean had given it to Sam, not just yet when he was still a bit insecure. He wanted to be angry at the lad for getting into things he wasn’t supposed to, and yet... Walking closer, he put his hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Please Crowley, I have to get Dean to take me back. I...” he glanced back down at the mirror. “I know I probably shouldn’t have been looking at his things but I just thought I could look in on home, make sure that Pa and Meg were doin’ okay without me....” 

“He can’t leave now. There are forces afoot...” Crowley shook his head. “Your father will be alright. People get sick...” ‘Course he had no real idea about the state of Sam’s father’s health. “You can’t go world leaping every now and again, you know. The magic, it has to be gathered... stored. You’ve seen how much harder it is for him to heal himself when it’s depleted.”

Sam drew in shuddery breath before returning his attention to the mirror. “But I can’t just leave him like this,” he argued hoarsely. He shook his head as he lifted his gaze to Crowley’s once more. “No, I have to go, I’ll just make Dean understand,” he insisted sternly as he brushed past Crowley heading for the door in search of Dean, mirror still held in his hands.

“He’s in the armory,” Crowley called after Sam. This... it was definitely not what they’d needed.

* * *

The armory was bustling with activity. Crates of spears and longbows were lifted up and carried out. Groups of men and woman stood in small circles discussing light armor and plans for quickly raising certain parts of the castle walls that were lower than others, and fortifying weak spots.

Dean stood at a drafting board, looking at the architect’s designs and pointing out faults or listening to explanations of why what he was asking for was impossible. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a tall figure enter and come to a halt just inside the armory.

Seeing Sam looking a little forlorn, Dean asked the architect to keep working on the design. Crossing the large space between himself and Sam, Dean put his hand out. “Is there a problem? If you’re upset that I’ll be late to the dinner party tomorrow, there are things I need to accomplish before we take some time to ourselves.” Which wasn’t a guaranty that he wouldn’t have to deal with matters of the realm when they were married, but he would do his best to give his undivided attention to Sam.

Sam shook his head, “It’s not that,” he mumbled forlornly. He turned his head as his gaze scoured the bustle of activity and he felt his heart clench at having to ask something like this _now_ but he was left with no real choice. His gaze returned to Dean before lowering to the mirror he held clutched to his chest. Slowly peeling it away, he handed the object to Dean. 

“It’s my Pa,” he whispered softly. “He’s sick,” he said as though Dean couldn’t see that for himself. “I dunno what’s wrong and he needs me. I - I need to go home Dean.” 

“This was not for you to touch.” A muscle throbbed in Dean’s jaw as he learned exactly what had Sam in a state. Seeing the man that had appeared to be strong as an ox laying in bed and being fed, Dean knew that whatever ailed John Winchester, it wasn’t something light. His throat closed up on him as he looked up. 

“I know and I’m sorry, but...” Sam trailed off as his face took on a somber expression. “I hate to leave, I do, but... If Pa and Meg need me, I should be there. She’s just a little girl and I can’t expect her to take care of him _and_ the farm. And...I dunno what Elizabeth is doing there, but it’s obviously something serious if Pa allowed her to come over and help out.” 

“Sam--”

“Please, Dean,” he begged. “I won’t be gone long. I just need to take care of a few things. Hire someone to tend to the farm and make sure that everything will be okay, please.... Seven, eight days...two weeks tops, I promise.” 

“Sam, it’s not like a ride to the next town.” Dean put his arm around Sam and swept him out of the armory and headed toward the stairs. “I don’t have endless magic. I’ve been storing a little away every day to keep my promise to take you home in a year, but if I take you now... it will wipe me out. If you don’t return with me in a number of hours, I’ll have to leave you there for a year. I won’t,” he said, before Sam got any ideas. “I can’t.”

“But, I can’t _not_ go!” Sam insisted. “Please,” he began. “I won’t ask to leave again for a whole year. But this, I have to do this now.” 

“You don’t understand. I _can’t_ ,” Dean answered. “It’s not just you... me... I have people to take care of. Things are happening. Out there,” he said, “I have to keep everyone safe, and that means I can’t leave this place defenseless, which is what would happen if I use my magic up taking us back and forth.”

Sam’s brow creased as he gazed into Dean’s face his eyes searching his lover’s for an answer. “Then just send me,” he replied softly. 

They were at the top of the stairs when Sam made Dean stop. The look in Sam’s face, the hope and fear in his eyes, it tore at Dean’s insides. Dean pulled his gaze away and looked out into the hallway. There was a way, but it was a risk. A big one. He didn’t want to go that route.

“Dean?” Sam asked tentatively. “I know you don’t want me to go. I don’t want to leave you either, but I have to do this,” he implored. “I’m sorry, but you promised me that I could go home whenever I wanted to, well, this is it.” 

Dean’s gaze shifted back to Sam. “For good. That’s what I’d promised,” he answered, angry that his words had been tossed back at him. Helpless, because he knew where this was going to end up. And frustrated, because he didn’t have a helluvalot of choices. From the stubborn tilt of Sam’s jaw... he knew Sam would force his hand.

Closing his hand around Sam’s wrist, he started to march down the hall, his strides lengthening as they neared their wing of the castle.

When they were in the privacy of their room, Dean released Sam. 

He paced away from, then walked back to him. “I send you back, you _promise me. You promise me on your mother, your sister and your God, you promise me that in seven days, you will return... Whether your father is ill or better, that nothing will keep you there a moment longer,” he said, looking intently into Sam’s eyes. “If I do this. If you go without me and take my ring... I am putting my life into your hands. My people’s lives. You _have_ to swear by everything you love._

Sam searched Dean’s eyes, a part of him, the childish side, wanting to beg for more time while another part of him, the part that had had to step forward with the death of his mother and take care of an infant girl in her stead, the part of him that now insisted upon going, that part knew that what Dean was offering was as much as he could give right now. He nodded as he kept his eyes steadily locked on Dean’s. “I promise,” he said. 

He wanted to say more, tell Dean that it wasn’t as though he _wanted_ to go simply for the sake of going, but he knew that Dean could see that this was no ordinary case of the sniffles that had beset his Pa. “I promise,” Sam said again, holding his breath. 

Dean was either a foolish man, or a man who’d lost his heart. Or both. But in that instant, he put his trust in this boy... this man he’d known for a short time.

Pulling his silver ring off his finger, he twisted and tugged on it, separating it into two rings. The lights in their chamber suddenly paled, the fire burning only half as bright.

He slipped one ring back onto his finger, then closed his palm over the other one. As Dean concentrated, a white light glowed around his fist, then dissipated. Reaching out, he took Sam’s hand and slipped the ring onto Sam’s finger. “You’ll twist it three times to the right to go h... home. In no more than seven days, twist it three times to the left, and you’ll be back. I’ll be waiting. I’ll feel when you’re near and even if you end up beyond the wall, you’ll be protected,” he said. “But while you have half of my ring, I won’t be able to store more magic.” He wanted to make certain Sam understood. “We’ll be vulnerable. The castle. The town.” 

Sam nodded, “I promise, no longer than seven days,” he vowed. He smiled softly as he gazed into Dean’s eyes. “Might be able to come back even sooner. I’ll try. I promise.”

Stepping forward and closing the small gap between them, Sam threw his arms around Dean and hugged him tightly up against his body. He ran a hand soothingly over Dean’s back as he squeezed his eyes closed, part of him knowing he needed to, had to go, and another part, reluctant to leave. With a heavy sigh, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to the side of Dean’s neck before pulling back.

“Would it be okay if I take some supplies from the healer?” he asked. “I won’t take much, just what I can fit into my pockets.” 

Dean’s arm closed around Sam like a steel band, stopping Sam from pulling too far away. “Show the mirror to the healer. She won’t give you medication without any information. And take some gifts for your sister. Some... valuables, gold coins, in case...” He meant in case her father passed away or to find help with the farm. “Sam,” he said hoarsely, swallowing and shaking his head when Sam looked into his eyes. “Godspeed,” he said, having heard Sam use the phrase before.

Sam flung himself against Dean once more, hugging him tightly. “I’ll be back soon,” he vowed. “I promise.” 

* * *

Sam stood before the healer, waiting for her to make up her mind on what medicines she would allow him to take back home with him. Tucked under one arm, he had a small chest filled with trinkets and jewels that would set his Pa and Meg up financially for years to come. 

The healer motioned for him to come closer and showed him a few items. “After he licks this reed, if it turns red, you will give him a few drops of this elixir. If it turns green, then you will mix these two elixirs. Two draughts a day for three days. If any medication is left over, you are to bring it back. You are not to allow any of the healers on your world to see these items.” She added, rather forcefully.

Sam nodded as he memorized each word that the healer said. “I won’t I swear,” he promised. “And thanks,” he added, taking the bottles from her hands and stuffing them into the pockets of the jacket that he wore, a soft warm brown hoodie that Crowley had found for him to wear along with the jeans, t-shirt and over shirt he now sported. 

He took a couple steps back and set the mirror he’d been clutching to his chest down on a table nearby. “Here goes nothin’,” he muttered half under his breath. Taking in a deep lungful of air, he released it slowly and lifted his free hand to his ringed finger and turned it three times to the right. 

“Not inside here, you need to go outs--” before the healer got the words out, a bright light filled the room. She gripped the edge of the table just as the fabric of time and space was inelegantly torn without the Prince to control it. The room shook. A jagged crack formed from ceiling to floor, plaster raining down on her.

When it ended, she looked down and saw the shattered mirror and gasped. It would take a lot of magic to forge a new one. Magic His Highness could not waste, having made the foolish decision to allow his consort to leave the realm with half his power. Sighing, she got up to call the servants, and Mr. Crowley. He’d be the best one to inform the Prince that the mirror was gone.

* * * 

Sam more or less crash landed, falling to his hands and knees as soon as his feet came in contact with the Earth. The small trunk he’d carried fell from his hands as he used them to brace his fall, rolling away from him in the dark dirt. Reaching for the trunk, he slowly climbed back up onto his feet and tucked the small chest back under his arm before wiping his hands against one another, dirt and grass falling from his palms. He looked around, brow creasing as he tried to get his bearings. A smile slowly curved his lips as he recognized the field in which he stood, it was his Pa’s, which meant that home was just up over the hill. He took off at a run, a wide smile curving his lips despite the reason for his return. 

“Meg! Pa! I’m Home!” he shouted as he ran. 

Megan sat on the step of the porch with her knees up and her face buried in her long skirts. Eyes squeezed tight, she prayed for God to bring Sam back. He’d know what to do, he always did. She prayed so hard, she almost imagined she could hear him shouting her name.

“Meg! Pa!” Sam continued to shout as he climbed the steep hill and made his way down it, his stride quickening with gravity. As he reached the bottom of the hill he blew past the barn and stables and came around the side of the house toward the front door. 

“Meg!” he shouted as he leapt up onto the porch, his lips pulling into a wide smile at seeing his baby sister, though his mind was not quite in such a state as to absorb the way she sat, the slump to her shoulders or the concern lines drawn into her youthful face. 

Raising her face up, Meg squinted against the light. Then she jumped up into Sam’s waiting arms. “Saaaaammmm! You came, you came,” she shouted in his ear, squeezing him tight. “Did God drop you down because I prayed real hard?” she asked, still clutching him tight. “Pa said you were with God. And now he’s going to go to God too, and I thought both of you would leave me here alone, even though I was the one who was supposed to go first.”

Sam shook his head, “I wasn’t with God,” he corrected gently. “I was with... with someone who I love very much. I’ll tell you all about it later, I promise. But right now, we need to go see Pa, I have medications to give him,” he explained as he gently drew back enough to be able to look into her face. “No one is leaving you,” he murmured with a shake of his head. “Not if I can help it. Now come on, let’s go tend to Pa.” 

“They told me I can’t go in there,” she said, following him inside. “The doc said he’d be back at sunset, and Elizabeth will be back soon.”

“Yeah well, now I’m here and you can go wherever you want to,” he answered. “Why was Elizabeth here anyway?” he asked, glancing at her as they crossed the threshold into the house. 

“‘Cause there was no one to take care of me,” she said. “She’s my teacher at school now.” The sofa had some blankets folded on it, and there were some plates and cups on the coffee table. “She sleeps here so I don’t have to leave pa alone.”

Sam’s lips pulled into a tight line and a sigh left him as he placed the small trunk on the kitchen table. He lifted a hand and ran it back through his hair as he took in the sight of the house, cluttered and unkempt and he knew that it wasn’t due to Meg not trying. She was young and could only do so much by herself. 

Nodding he turned his attention back to Meg. “I’m gonna go look in on Pa and then you and I are gonna clean this place up a little and get some lunch fixed, okay?” 

“Are you gonna fix him? Like you always fixed me?” she asked, looking at him bright eyed. “Is it my fault. I got better and you left and now Pa....” Worrying her lower lips, she fought to hold back her tears.

Sam sighed and paused in his steps, turning back toward Meg. He reached out and lifted her up and placed her onto the table so that they were at eye level, or close to it. This is _not_ your fault, you got that?” he admonished. “I don’t wanna hear you say that or even think that again, understood?” he ran his hand over the side of her face, giving her a smile. Reaching into the pocket of his hoodie, feeling the vials there, he gave her a nod. “I’m gonna do my best to fix Pa up.” 

“Okay,” she said, letting him help her down. Following Sam to their father’s room, she stopped at the door. “The doc said he might have to blood-let Pa again if there’s no improvement by tomorrow. Pa doesn’t believe in that, I told them that but... they wouldn’t listen to me.” 

A muscle twitched in Sam’s jaw. “No one’s bleedin’ Pa. I’m here now and I’m gonna take care’a things.” 

Walking into the room, he tentatively approached his father’s bedside. “Pa,” he called softly as he eased himself down, one knee at a time until he was kneeling beside the bed. He reached for his father’s hand, holding it within his own. “I’m home Pa, everything’s gonna be alright now. I’m home.” 

* * *

Dean paced back and forth in the study, getting progressively more agitated. Once more, he shouted, “Crowley!” loud enough that his voice carried down the hall.

“Right here Highness,” Crowley said, just catching his breath.

“It’s been hour---”

“Minutes. It’s been fifteen minutes,” Crowley supplied quickly. “I had to search your room, to find the healer--”

“Why are you wasting air?”

“Highness?” Crowley looked at him.

“The mirror. I don’t care if you went to the four corners of the realm, you’re back with empty hands. Where is it?” He demanded. “I want to know how he’s doing. If he got there alright. If his father’s okay. If he...”

“If he, what?” Crowley asked, noting the concern in Dean’s voice and manner.

“It’s nothing. It’s... his first love is there, taking care of his father. Nothing.”

“Ah...” Crowley looked down for a moment, then back at his Highness. “The mirror. The shocks from Sam’s departure... they broke the mirror.”

Dean’s shout of rage stormed through half the castle, the walls shaking and the torch flames burning bright for an instant, and then snuffing out.

* * *

Sam had managed to get his father to take some of the healer’s potions despite insisting that they were the work of the devil throughout the entire affair. In the end, he’d found that he had to give his Pa medications from both the vials and that the medicine seemed to make his Pa even more lethargic. Once he had tucked the blankets better around his father, Sam rose to his feet and quietly left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. 

The afternoon was a blur of activity and Sam was so busy that he hadn’t had the time to open the trunk and show his sister the contents or go into town to try and hire someone to tend the land. Once the dishes were washed from lunch, Sam started for the door only to remember the ring on his finger as his hand wrapped around the door handle. Not wanting to break it, or worse yet lose the ring, as he pulled it off his finger he walked to the small bedroom he’d once shared with his sister. He placed the ring into one of the small trinket boxes that had once been his mother’s. Satisfied that it would be safe there, he headed back out of the bedroom and for the front door. 

“I’m going to take care of the horses and milk the cows, I’ll be back in time to cook supper,” Sam called as he pulled open the door and stepped outside. 

“Okay. Hurry back, I’ll miss you,” Meg called back. Sitting by the fire, she played with her dolls. Sam was back and Pa was gonna be okay. She couldn’t ask for anything more.

*  
[The Next Day]

“Sam!” Elizabeth drew here buggy to a stop. “I was just coming by to see how you were holding up. And I brought some fresh baked bread,” she said. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?” 

Sam shook his head, “Nah,” he replied with a smile as he changed course and headed her way. “I was just goin’ to work on the farm, tend the fields and animals,” he informed her. His gaze strayed to the basket of warm bread he could smell, sitting on the bench seat beside her. “I would sure love a slice of that bread though,” he allowed. “Think maybe you could see to bringin’ me out a slice?” 

“Of course,” she said, picking up the basket and pulling the cloth off the top. “Megan’s real glad you’re back,” she said, then looked up. “So am I. I was so worried when your Pa wouldn’t say where you’d gone off to. I had this feeling that something terrible had happened to you.”

Sam grinned and shook his head, “Nah, I just... I had someone I had to go see’s all,” he assured with a shy blush staining the apples of his cheeks. 

“Now that sounds mighty mysterious. Sam Winchester, do I have competition I don’t even know about?” She asked, taking in his flush. “Who is she?”

Sam shook his head, “Nah, it’s not... I mean...” he chuckled with embarrassment, his blush deepening and giving him away. “Someone you don’t know, s’all. I best get to tending to things,” he murmured. “If you wanna call when the bread’s ready, I’ll be sure to listen for it.” 

“Sam,” she patted the seat next to her. “Won’t take me but a moment to get the bread buttered and a few things out for supper. Come on back home with me.” 

Sam’s eyes darted down to the bench seat where he hand lay before lifting once more to her face. “Oh I’d like to, but I really need to tend to things out here,” he responded. “I promise I’ll be in directly,” he vowed with a nod. “We can sit and talk then.” 

“Alright,” she gave him a look. “Don’t be long.” A light tug on the reins got the buggy moving. Smiling, she looked over her shoulder at him as she drove away.

Sam nodded and took a step back as the buggy began to move. He watched her ride away a moment before turning on his heel and jogging toward the stables so that he could keep the promise that he’d made regarding not being gone too long. 

It was nearly three hours later when Sam finally had everything finished in the fields and the animals tended. He was sweaty, tired and his hands and muscles ached from the hard labor. He’d gotten soft living with Dean and being served most of the time. Thoughts of his love had a rather love smitten grin curving his lips as he pushed open the door to his home where Elizabeth waited for him. 

“Sam Winchester, if that’s your idea of ‘soon?’ Your lady love isn’t going to be happy with you,” Elizabeth huffed. She and Megan had tired of waiting and had eaten supper, but she left the bread and some sausage and cheese out for Sam on the table.

“Lady love?” Megan’s ears perked up and she put her doll down, coming to join them at the table.

Sam blushed though a smile curved his lips. “Sorry,” he murmured as he pulled a chair out at the table. His attention turned to his sister as she joined him at the table. “What have you been up to princess?” he asked, choosing to ignore both Elizabeth and Megan’s mention of a ‘lady love’. 

“I gave papa water. He drank it, but he went right to sleep again,” Megan said.

“I looked in on him a few times, and his fever’s gone down,” Elizabeth said. “Doc was here too. Whatever he did, it’s finally working. We were afraid we’d lose him and...” she glanced at Meg, then at Sam. “No one knew where you’d gone.”

Sam lowered his gaze to the food and began to pick through it. “Pa knew,” he countered softly. 

“But your Pa was in no state to tell us so we couldn’t send you word. Why all the secrecy?” Elizabeth asked. “You were never one to keep secrets.”

Sam glanced up at Elizabeth then over to Megan before returning his attention to Elizabeth with a pointed shake of his head. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled lowering his gaze again to the food. 

“I see,” she said in a tone that said the opposite. “I suppose we won’t be catching up with each other then,” she added, standing up and walking to the table near the door. She put her hat on and drew her gloves on. “I’ll come by to see your father again tomorrow. And Megan... it’s time you started attending school again,” she added.

Sam slid back his chair and made his way around the table to stand beside Elizabeth. “I’ll walk you out,” he offered. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Elizabeth it was that he couldn’t very well tell her that in exchange for Megan’s health, his Pa had had to give him up. That he’d been taken away to another planet by a _man_ , and that he was in love with that very same man. 

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, Megan.” She smiled at the girl, then walked out to the porch with Sam. “You’ve changed. I …” Looking up into his eyes, she searched them like she didn’t know who he was anymore.   
Sam wanted to argue, but couldn’t. He knew she was right. He’d changed more than he had ever thought possible. “Deep down, I’m still me,” he murmured softly. 

It was true, his core values and principles were the same, even if now other aspects of his life and personality had changed, been altered by having lived in a place not governed by what God may or may not think. And perhaps, there on Castica God thought differently than he did here on Earth, Sam wasn’t sure. 

“I couldn’t tell you things...in front of Megan,” Sam continued. “I was away because... I had to be… to save Megan... but now,” a smile curved his lips and a blush stole over his cheeks. “Now, it’s where I want to be. I’m getting married when I return,” he confessed. 

“You’re what?” She reached out and grasped his arm. “I’d congratulate you if you... If I knew more.” Pausing, she touched his cheek, then gave a low laugh. “You’re in love. How can that be a bad thing? Give over Sam.”

Sam smiled wide enough that his dimples showed, a full blush staining his entire face an adorable shade of crimson. “Well, his name is Dean,” he started only to stop as he saw the look on Elizabeth’s face and realized what he had said. “Na! Deanna, _her_ name is Deanna,” he quickly lied. “Why did I say he? Of course it’s a she,” he rambled with a nervous laugh. 

“I don’t know,” she lifted her hand to his forehead, “maybe you have a touch of the fever.” Shrugging, she added. “I, for one, am glad for you. Even if I had hoped maybe...” She left the words unsaid. “Good luck Sam. Maybe one day you’ll bring your bride back with you.”

Sam’s smile softened as he nodded. “Before I met Deanna, I kinda thought that maybe you and me....” he murmured, allowing his words to trail off as he offered her a smile. “Well, anyway, thank you,” he concluded before leaning in and pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. 

She held onto him for a fraction longer than she probably should have, and her eyes misted a little, but she gave him a smile before she headed down the porch stairs. Once she was on her buggy, she gave him a wave and tugged on the reins, taking deep breath as the horse started to pull.

* * * 

Crowley walked into the garden room with a tray in his hand. “I’ve brought a bit of soup and finger sandwiches. Shall I have a table rolled in, or will a tray do?”

Looking out at the garden which was blooming with bright flowers for the first time in a century, Dean waved his hand. “Not now. I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat.” When there was only silence, Crowley tried again. “I’ve got nice penis and breast shaped sandwiches …”

That had Dean looking up, then chuckling at the joke. “Just put them down. I’ll have something later.”

Setting the tray down, Crowley pulled a chair up. “Never thought the curse weakening its hold would be a bad thing. But it will break. When the boy comes back, it’ll break completely.”

Dean gave a nod. It had been five days. Sam had said he’d return sooner if he could, if his father got better. The healer thought the medicine should do the trick within a few days. “Did I tell you the woman taking care of his father, she’s...”

“Beautiful?” Crowley asked. “Surely we have many more beauties running about the castle and they’re not covered up, either. If he was going to stray, you’d have known it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “He likes people covered up. It’s his... fetish.”

Crowley made a face.

“What I was going to say is, she was his first love... or girlfriend... first girl... first person he ever kissed on the lips. His eyes go all soft whenever he talks about her.” Dean wet his lips and sighed. “Firsts are always dangerous.”

“Can be,” Crowley nodded. “But the lad loves you, else the frost would not have broken. The curse is dissipating.”

“You don’t think I should have let him go,” Dean said matter-of-factly. “No one does. I see it in their eyes,” he added. The curse had started breaking at the very edges of the principality and the wraiths and wilder-beasts were being driven in droves toward the center of the curse.... towards the castle. At first, when they’d begun to fortify the castle, before Sam had left, Dean hadn’t understood what was causing the creatures to come at the castle. He’d ridden out to find out what was happening and learned the edges of the principality were thawing, but the information came at a great cost. He’d returned with only half his men. Now the castle was under attack. The fire moat he’d created was working, but it was fueled by his magic and the drain on him was becoming almost unbearable.

“Maybe. Or maybe if you’d said ‘no,’ his love would have turned to hate. Then where would we be?” Crowley stood up. “Is there anything I can do--”

A young warrior ran into the room, practically falling over as he tried to bow. “Breach.... there’s a breach at the North wall. The fires died down an--”

Dean put his arm out, and Crowley immediately put his shoulder under Dean’s arm and helped him out of the chair. “Get the crutches,” he told the warrior, who scurried across the room to get them.

“Highness.”

Dean took the crutches and started for the door. “I want Malex and his men re-deployed to the North wall. They’re the most experienced. Make sure the perimeter guard is on double time. And Crowley!”

“Yes Highness.”

“Bring me one of those sandwiches. Stop dawdling.”

“Of course... Highness!”


	20. Chapter 20

It was the night of Sam’s sixth day back home. He’d managed to get the farm back to rights and hired some guys who would work the fields and help his Pa out after Sam left the next morning. 

John’s condition had improved greatly and he was now sitting up in the living room wrapped in a blanket and sipping some herbal tea that Elizabeth had dropped off for him on one of her many continuous visits. Sam felt bad about that, knowing that the reason Elizabeth had been the one to volunteer to help Pa out had a lot to do with the fact she’d had her sights set on being family someday. 

Megan was back in school now and Elizabeth assured Sam that she was doing well with her studies and that she was making loads of new friends. That helped take some of the worry off his shoulders. Knowing that he only had tonight and the morning left before he had to say goodbye, he sat in a wooden rocking chair across from his Pa in front of the large fireplace, sipping a cup of coffee. 

John stared into the fire, his hand gripping the arms of his chair. Occasionally, he looked over at his son, but then he’d drag his gaze away and feel the world’s weight settle once more on his shoulders.

Sam glanced over at his Pa, brow creasing slightly when he noticed the man glancing at him repeatedly only to look away. “What’s on your mind, Pa?” 

“I’m the one supposed to keep you safe, but I...” John slammed his hand on the wooden arm. “I sold you away to help Meg, and then I couldn’t even take care of her.”

“Pa, it’s okay. I don’t mind being with Dean. I mean, I kinda like it there. I have a new friend named Crowley and new clothes and all the food I can eat. It’s not exactly a punishment for me,” he soothed. 

“It’s not home,” John growled. “Your place is with me, and with Meg. What does that damned foreigner want with you anyway?” His eyes went from angry to worried. 

Sam shook his head, “Nothing,” he responded softly. “Dean just... well he needed someone to love him. Care for him. Like I do you and Megan, that’s all.”

It wasn’t a total lie, but Sam knew there was no way he could tell his Pa the entire truth of things, that he was in love with and soon to be married to a man. 

“He wanted a caretaker. Why couldn’t he hire one? He’s not a poor man,” John stated the obvious. “And just where is his home?” 

“It um, well it’s far away. He doesn’t live here in America,” Sam stammered, not completely sure how to answer his Pa’s question without having the man think that he’d gone daft. 

He did however chose to use the question regarding the whereabouts of Dean’s home to sidestep the questions regarding why it was that Dean hadn’t simply hired someone if all he wanted was a caretaker. 

“It’s unnatural. He’s unnatural. Does he...” John narrowed his gaze. “Is he church-going folk? Or is he demon? What he did that night...” Suddenly he reached out for Sam’s arm. “You’re not going back, Son. You’re staying here, with us.”

Sam jumped in his seat at how abruptly his Pa reached out and grabbed his arm. He reached with his free hand and gently eased his Pa’s grip from his arm.

“It’s okay, Pa. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he soothed. 

He wasn’t about to tell his Pa that he was going back. It wasn’t worth the argument and it wasn’t as though anyone could stop him since he had the ring that Dean had given him, tucked securely into the small chest in his old room. 

“Dean’s a good man, Pa,” he assured. “You’d like him if you knew him.” He wasn’t all too sure how truthful the statement was, but he’d spoken it with the hope that if Dean and his Pa ever met again, it would indeed be that way. 

John gave a snort. “He made me choose between my children, there ain’t nothing good in that. But you’ll stay. If he comes back for you. I’ll take care of him. In a few days, I’ll be myself again,” he promised.

Sam nodded obediently before rising from his chair. Stepping closer to his Pa, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to his Father’s head. “I know you will, Pa,” he assured softly. 

* * * 

_Dear Pa and Meg,_

_I am leaving this note to tell you both how very much I love you and will miss you.  
Don’t worry about me, I am well and happy with Dean and I promise that I will come home again soon for a visit. Maybe I will even bring Dean with me so that you can both get to know him. He is a kind, just and fair man, Pa and despite the fact that he made you do the impossible, I am safe with him. _

_All my love always,  
Samuel_

Sam read over the note he’d written. His Pa would probably notice the improvement in his spelling skills he thought, as he carefully folded the letter in half, then printed the names, _Pa & Meg_ on the front. He left it on the small desk in his and Megan’s room.

Then he crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to the table. He reached for the small box he’d placed his ring inside. Not long now and he would be back home, to his new home, and in Dean’s arms. That thought had a smile curving his lips and a faint blush staining his cheeks as he lifted the lid. 

His eyes widened and his smile fell away when he saw no sign of the ring next to the other bits and pieces of jewelry inside. Panic flooded through his system sending his heart into a mad, panicked hard tempo. 

“No, oh God, no,” he breathed. “Where is it? Where is it!?” he demanded frantically of the empty room as he stood to his feet and searched the bed linens and then got down on his hands and knees searching the floor. 

Pulling to his feet after coming up empty handed, Sam tried to think where the last place he had seen the ring and all this thoughts lead him back to the day he and Meg had come in and he had taken the ring off so he wouldn’t damage it working around the farm. 

“I know I put it in here,” he told himself. Gasping in a breath, his eyes went even wider, “Meg!”

He rushed from the room and out the front door, taking off at a mad run toward town intent on finding his baby sister to ask her if she knew where his ring might be. 

*

Sam burst in the door of the small white school house and stood in the open doorway panting heavily, his eyes wild. 

“Sam!” Elizabeth exclaimed. 

“Megan” Sam panted. “I need...to talk...to Meg,” he wheezed as he struggled to catch his breath. 

Meg blanched and started to cry. “Pa?” she asked as she got up from her desk. “Is he....?”

Sam shook his head, “Pa’s okay,” he panted. He swallowed hard and nodded to his sister, waving her to him with one hand. “I need to ask you something,” he explained. “Outside.” 

She looked over at Miss Elizabeth who gave her a nod, and then she started to follow Sam out of the school room, wiping her tears. “You scared me. I thought Pa died, and he was doing better. He told me a story last night,” she said, still shaken. “What happened? Why’d you run all the way to get me?”

Sam rounded on his sister once they were in the school yard and away from being able to be heard by anyone. “Megan, I need to ask you a question, okay? And I’m not mad, but did you take the ring that I had in that small trunk on the table next to the side of my bed?”

Her eyes widened, and then she looked down at her hand, and burst out crying once more. “I borrowed it and put some twine around it, to make it fit but it... I lost it. Been lookin’ for it since yesterday, I’m sorry Sam. But you can have any of the ones you gave me. All of them,” she said, grabbing his sleeve.

Sam’s heart felt like it had skipped a couple of beats at Megan’s words, ready to stall out altogether. He swallowed hard and nodded as he gently pried his sister’s fingers from his sleeve. “It’s okay, Meg,” he soothed though it took everything he had in him not to yell at her. 

Blowing out a breath he tried to get himself under check, “Can you tell me the last place you had it?” he inquired. 

“It was glowing, like the sun. So shiny...” She grabbed a handful of her skirt and pulled it up to wipe her face.

Sam sighed in frustration. “Yeah, it was,” he agreed as he crouched in front of her. “Listen, Megan, I need you to focus, alright? Where did you last have my ring?” he asked again, slowly this time. 

“It’s lost.” She looked up at the sky for a long moment. “I wore it to school, only when I got here, it wasn’t there anymore and I couldn’t show Mary Jane. And Laura said I was lying, about it shining with a light... and I wasn’t.... I don’t lie.”

Sam groaned and squeezed his eyes closed as he reached out and held onto his sister’s sides. Opening his eyes, he licked his lips and tried to tame down his frustration. “Yeah, I know you don’t lie,” he agreed. “Okay, so you wore it to school, when? Today?” he inquired hopefully. If she’d just lost it then maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to find, he could just backtrack the way he’d come and search for it. If it was earlier, there was no telling how many wagon wheels had run it over and how deeply imbedded into the ground it was by now, and that was if no one else had found it and taken it for themselves. 

She shook her head. “It was yesterday. I ran through the woods, near the creek. I didn’t want to be late and... then it wasn’t on me anymore. I should have used more twine cause it was really big.”

Sam groaned again and lifted one hand to smooth over Megan’s hair. “Okay, so yesterday, the woods near the creek,” he confirmed with a nod. “You didn’t go near the creek did you? Oh God, please tell me you didn’t go near the creek.”

“Just ran by it,” she said. “I’ll help you look for it if you like. I’m sorry, Sam,” she added. 

Sam nodded, “It - it’s okay, Meg,” he murmured. “But you need to ask me next time, okay?” he admonished gently. 

Pulling to his full height he shook his head, “Nah, you get back to class, I’ll go look for myself,” he instructed. “Tell Elizabeth I’m sorry for interrupting,” he said as he started toward the woods. 

* * * 

He hadn’t come back. Sam hadn’t come back.

Dawn had broken hours ago and it was the eighth day since Sam had left. Dean’s magical reserves were down to nil.

The castle felt deserted, only it wasn’t. It was filled with the townspeople who’d gathered and who were wondering how much longer their Prince could hold the castle against the terrible forces trying to get inside. Most were so terrified, they could barely speak. And some, some spoke of alternatives that were as terrible as what awaited them if the wraith got in.

*

His hands shaking slightly, Crowley finished fastening Dean’s shirt for him. It was the white and gold outfit his Highness was to have worn at the wedding. “Did you want...”

“Might as well,” Dean answered, agreeing to allow Crowley to pin a red flower to his shirt. Sam had insisted there could be no wedding without flowers.

Crowley stood back, biting on his lip and uncharacteristically somber.

“Oh, come now, I can’t look that bad,” Dean said, his gaze locking with Crowley’s.

“Never looked better,” Crowley said, pretending Dean wasn’t almost as pale as his clothes. 

Dean gave a snort.

There was a long silence. Neither man broke it. It was as if time slowed, or maybe they both just wanted it to.

“There must be another way, Highness. We can … we can... “

Reaching out, Dean grabbed Crowley’s arm to stop him. “I’ve gone through all of the options. Every one of them will buy us a little time, that’s all. And if I delay, there won’t be anything left... we’ll be over-run.”

“We’ll fight without magic. We’ll -”

“Crowley.” Dean waited a moment until Crowley stopped rattling off options he’d already thought of. “I have kept my people safe for over a century. It is my duty.”

“With great magic comes great responsibility, yadda yadda...” Crowley trailed off. He took a deep breath. His throat closed up as he asked, “Wheelchair or crutches?”

Dean pointed at the crutches. When Crowley came back to the bed with them, and helped him to stand, Dean closed his arms around the man. “You have served me well, my friend.” He slapped him on the back a few times. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

“No. Not over a sodding...”

Dean gave a bark of laughter, then took the crutches. 

“What if he comes back? Samuel?” Crowley asked.

Hesitating a moment, Dean realized what Crowley was asking him. His people’s reaction to Sam would not be good. A muscle throbbed in his jaw. “It is my last and final edict, that Samuel Winchester is to be treated exactly as he was treated under my rule.”

Crowley bowed and stood back.

It took about twenty five minutes for Dean to make it down the stairs and to walk slowly through the long halls of the castle, through his people. Some touched his clothes, some wished him happy travels, and others cried outright. He managed to keep his face impassive, whispered a few words here and there, but mostly concentrated on forcing one leg in front of the other, and not collapsing during his final walk through his people.

When Dean reached the castle wall, he raised his hand to indicate it was far enough. His cousin moved out of the crowd, curtsied and kissed his hand. “Rule wisely,” he whispered to her, then giving the crutches to Crowley, started to climb the stairs, holding onto the railing, pulling himself up one step at a time until he was at the top of the wall.

A few minutes after Dean sat down and raised his arms up, lightning jagged the skies above. The wind whipped up, howling around the castle. A thick wall of thorny bramble sprang up, surrounding the castle walls and growing higher, creating an impenetrable barrier that nothing could get through. By the time the storm died down, he’d used every last remnant of magic within him. 

“Your Highness,” Crowley said, bowing. “May I retrieve...”

“Please do,” _she_ answered tears rolling down her cheeks as she looked on, seeing her once vibrant cousin’s lifeless body.

* * * 

Sam searched for the ring most of the day and into the night. It was only due to Elizabeth and Megan finding him long after they’d had their supper that he’d come home to get some food inside him. Even then, he only picked at his food, anxious to get back out and continue searching. 

He’d searched the remainder of the night, even swimming in the creek in a futile search. Continuing well into the morning, Sam was in tears by the time he found the ring at some time past noon. He’d fallen to the ground, hunched over and had been in the process of praying and making deals with God when he’d caught a glimpse of something glowing, like the sun, just as Megan had described it. His breath caught in his throat as he dug beneath the layer of dirt that had covered half of the ring from view and withdrew it. He whooped in victory and hurriedly got to his feet, running the rest of the way back home. Reaching their fields he didn’t bother going in to say goodbye, he’d already left a note and he was late enough as it was, he didn’t want Dean to be any more angry with him that he likely would be for dawdling. Just as Dean had instructed him, he twisted the ring three times to the left and wished to get back home. 

In a flash, Sam was transported away from the farm. By the time he drew his next breath, he found himself tumbling to the ground as though he’d been dropped from the sky. Rolling with a grunt, Sam slowly pulled up from the floor to his feet and looked around, trying to get his bearings. It took him a second but then he realized that he had crash landed in the dungeons. It was strangely empty of people and activity, but he didn’t take the time to ponder why. Instead, with a wide and happy grin on his face, he hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time. 

“Dean, I’m back! I know I’m late and I’ll explain everything, but I’m back! Crowley, I’m back! Dean!” he yelled as he ran. 

Reaching the top of the stairs he came to an abrupt halt and his smile slowly melted away as he took in the somber faces and the looks of accusation aimed at him by the servants and people inside the castle. 

“Dean?” he called out as he made his way through them, his head pivoting as he took in all the tear stained faces and sad eyes that turned away from him. 

“Crowley?” he called out anxiously as he quickened his steps. “Crowley what’s going on!” he called out as he rushed through the castle heading for Dean’s study. 

Crowley was called and arrived in the study right after Sam. He searched Sam’s face and saw no hint of malice. “He wasn’t lying to you,” Crowley said. “Seven days was seven days. He held on until...” He lapsed into silence.

Sam’s brow creased in confusion. “But I’m only a day late. I tried to get here on time, but the ring was lost and Megan didn’t know where she lost it...” he tried to explain, allowing his voice to trail off. 

A coldness settled around Sam’s heart and he tried to push it away, swallowing hard as his eyes bore into Crowley’s. “Hold on? What - what are you saying?” he asked, a part of him not wanting to hear the answer. 

“The castle’s in mourning. He’s gone.” Crowley took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he added, seeing Sam’s stricken face.

Sam’s breath hitched and a hand seemed to squeeze around his heart as he stared into Crowley’s face. He slowly shook his head as he began to tremble. “No,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s not true!” he insisted louder. “He’s not dead! He can’t be dead!” he argued as though by doing so he could change the course of events that had taken place, or perhaps persuade Death to change its mind. 

Tears fell from his eyes as he continued to deny what Crowley told him. “I want to see him. Take me to him!” he demanded with an authority he didn’t feel nor knew if he held any longer. 

“Would you like to change first?” Crowley asked. “Maybe have a moment to yourself. You’re in shock.” He took a few steps and put his hand on Sam’s back. “Though I can’t help but think he’d be pleased to see you wet. Your clothes are _shockingly_ see-through.”

Sam started to yell and demand that he see Dean now only to jerk his face up and stare in shock at Crowley’s remark. He slowly shook his head, the anger burning out of him to be replaced by bone deep grief. “I just wanna see him, now...please,” he pleaded, “please.” 

“Sorry,” Crowley whispered his apology. It was clear that he and Dean dealt with blows and tragedy in a different manner than Sam. Dark humor did not agree with this youth. “Come on, I’ll take you to where he is.” Keeping his hand on Sam’s back, Crowley walked him out.

People watched as they walked by. Crowley met their eyes, silently reminding them of Dean’s last edict. 

They went out to the gardens, where the flowers seemed to bloom even brighter upon Sam’s return. “Right there,” Crowley said pointing to the middle of the garden, where a glass casket lay on raised pillars. “I’ll wait for you in the garden room,” he said, withdrawing and giving Sam his privacy.

Sam found it hard to breathe and he had to fight to keep from crumbling to the ground. He drew in ragged hiccupped breaths, his gaze fixed on the coffin holding his love as he moved slowly, with leaden feet towards it. His tears coursed unchecked down his cheeks and he started to openly weep when he came to a stop next to the casket, putting a hand on it as he gazed lovingly down into Dean’s face through the glass. 

“I’m sorry,” he cried softly as he shook his head. “I’m so sorry, I tried to come back on time, I swear, I tried. It’s all my fault,” he whispered brokenly before sucking in a stuttered breath. “It’s all my fault...” 

He reached for the fastenings of the lid and slowly unlatched them and carefully lifted the glass lid completely so that he could touch his beloved one last time. He ran his fingertips over Dean’s freckled cheekbones on both the scarred and unscarred sides of his face, and the pad of his thumb brushed across his lover’s full bottom lip as he remembered how they’d felt against his own. He leaned over and tentatively brushed his lips across Dean’s cool ones. 

“I love you,” he whispered through his tears, tears that dropped one by one onto Dean’s face. Dean would never kiss him back again. Never hold him. Never make him laugh. It hurt. It hurt so bad. 

Sam buried his face against Dean’s neck and wept, shoulders shaking with his sobs, his arms moving to wrap around his lover the best they could. “Sorry,” he whispered brokenly between sobs, “M’so sorry. Love you. Love you Dean...” 

The sky went dark. Lightning jagged across it as the winds kicked up. Comets started to leave colorful trails against the velvet black of night.

Sam gasped softly and drew back as he felt a weight press up against him and he pried his tear damp eyes open, his gaze roaming over Dean. 

Dean’s body suddenly lifted up and out of the coffin. 

Bright lights streaked from Dean’s fingertips, his shoulder, his face.... his scarred side. Slowly, puckered and damaged skin smoothed out. His hair grew evenly on both sides of his head, reaching his shoulders. As a bolt of lightning struck the center of Dean’s body, he bowed back, his head and feet almost touching the coffin before he straightened and gently floated back down into the coffin.

Sam had lifted an arm shield himself from the bright lights that came out of Dean and seemed to surround him. When the lightning struck Dean’s body, he sucked in a startled breath and watched mesmerized as Dean’s body slowly lowered back to the coffin. Tentatively, he moved forward and reached a hand out, placing it against Dean’s shoulder. When Dean actually moved at the touch, he sucked in a breath and recoiled, heart hammering wildly in his chest. 

“D-Dean,” he whispered warily. “Dean.”

Opening his eyes, Dean stared blankly. The noises were familiar. The sight ought to be. But confusion reigned in his mind and he was trying to piece it all together.

Stepping closer to the casket, Sam peered down into Dean’s face, or what he was pretty sure was his Dean’s face, though the skin was no longer scarred on one side and his hair was no longer jaggedly grown in in places but was full and lush. He searched the same green eyes he’d come to know for, it seemed, forever and a smile tentatively curved his lips upward. “Dean!” he cried, throwing his arms around his lover’s neck. 

Dean was aware of discomfort. He searched his mind for words, and then they came. “I’m wet. Why am I wet? Crowley!” he yelled, pushing against the wet dead weight on his chest until he was sitting up. Then it came rushing back to him. All of it. 

Dean thought his heart was going to stop, that someone had reached into his chest and was squeezing it. He focused on Sam’s face, and then reached out to touch it. “Am I dreaming?” he asked, not wanting to allow himself to believe in the one thing he’d been so sure of, and which he’d been so wrong about. 

Sam found himself pushed away and he stood staring at Dean, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. When his love finally looked at him, when he finally touched him, fresh tears filled Sam’s eyes and when Dean spoke, his throat closed up on any words he might have said and opted to simply shake his head. No, he wasn’t dreaming, it was real, they were together and Dean was alive. 

“No,” Sam finally managed to croak out as his tears slipped free to leave salty tracks on his cheeks. Tentatively, he moved forward, closer to where Dean sat in the godawful coffin, his eyes never leaving his lovers. 

Dean looked down at the coffin, made a face, and got up and out of it. Reaching out, he caught one of Sam’s teardrops with his fingertip. “Why are you crying? You _know_ I hate it when you cry.” He notice his finger... his hand was free of scars. Swallowing, he looked into Sam’s eyes. “What...?”

Sam smiled brightly through his tears and shook his head before throwing himself into Dean’s arms, burying his face against his neck. “I love you,” he murmured through his tears, tears that this time were of joy, not of sorrow. 

Dean gave a snort. “I knew it.” Closing his arm around Sam, he held him tight, breathing in his scent and trying to believe this was real, that they’d been given a second chance. “The curse... it’s broken,” he whispered, knowing it was over. “You came back... You came back,” he said, his voice breaking.

Sam grinned against Dean’s neck as he nodded. Slowly, he forced himself to pull his head back though he was loath to do so, not wanting to release Dean now that he’d somehow gotten him back. “Of course I came back,” he said, searching Dean’s eyes. A soft chuckle worked its way out through the tears that he couldn’t seem to contain. “I was right, you do have beautiful eyes,” he murmured. 

“And I was right. You are magical,” Dean lifted Sam up and spun him around. “And wonderful. And gorgeous. And... loyal,” he said, setting Sam down and kissing him like a man who couldn’t get enough. After he explored every inch of Sam’s mouth with his tongue, he released him, declaring, “And mine.”

Sam wrapped his arms tighter around Dean, if that were even possible. He moaned into the kiss and fresh tears stung his eyes at the realization of how close he had come to never being able to be kissed by his Dean again. He clung to Dean even as his Prince drew back and he searched Dean’s face, his brow creasing slightly before he spoke. “You didn’t think I’d come back,” he murmured, it wasn’t a question. “I told you I would.” 

“You did,” Dean agreed. “I tried not to doubt...”

“Bloody fucking hell!” Crowley exclaimed, coming up to them, eyes wide. When Dean turned to face him, Crowley staggered back and put his hand on his heart. “I think the old ticker’s just about had it,” he said.

“Crowley. I order you not to die on me.”

“Yes Highness,” Crowley answered, a big smile plastered over his face.

Sam managed a chuckle through the tears that kept filling his eyes off and on as he looked over at his friend with a sniffle before returning his attention to Dean, smiling joyously at him, his heart in his eyes. 

“Well...” Crowley looked the two of them over. “Assuming you’re not glued together because of the...” he waved his hands to indicate the storm clouds that had been there moments ago, “this might be a good time for a wedding. We’ll just... change a few things, cancel the funeral and...”

Dean’s mouth dropped open at the notion.

Sam chuckled softly and hung his head, a bright blush stealing over his features. Lifting his head his gaze darted from Dean over to Crowley. “A wedding, definitely,” he agreed before peering at Dean from the corner of his eye, his smile still held firmly in place, his dimples showing. “But I think maybe that could wait until say, tomorrow morning?” he suggested, turning his attention back to Dean. “I think maybe the Prince and I need some...alone time....” he murmured with a suggestive light in his eyes.

“Oh sothat’s how it is now, his Highness grows his hair and is once again fair and beautiful, and master Sam has designs to keep him in the bedroom.”

Dean gave a snort, but touched his face, still trying to believe the damage that Patrick had wrought was gone.

Sam blushed profusely and shook his head, “Nah, it’s not like that,” he mumbled and ducked his head sheepishly. 

“Oh, I hope it is... I truly hope it is,” Dean countered, kissing Sam once more and taking his hand. 

As they walked away, Crowley spoke from behind them. “Try not to scare anyone.”

Dean was puzzled, until they started to walk by people. Some screamed. Some fell to their knees. And some fainted at their feet. 

At first the screaming and odd behavior had startled Sam into gripping Dean’s hand tighter and stepping closer to his Prince, but after the first few, he simply turned his attention to Dean with a soft smile. “Guess maybe we ought to warn them about the wraiths not being wraiths any more, huh?” he mused with a soft chuckle. 

“Are you saying I look like a wraith?” Dean growled. “Crowley, I need a mirror!” he shouted, for the first time in a century, as he and Sam made their way to their quarters, promising to come back out later in the evening to celebrate the breaking of the curse.

* * *

There were three days of celebrations in Castica. People rejoiced at the return of their Prince, the restoration of the lands to their former glory, and the Royal wedding. More than a few admirers of Sam and his cutting edge notions of fidelity vowed to find and marry their own true loves, while others smiled and laughed, wondering how long anyone could remain true to only one person before going mad.

The wraiths, those who were not burned or killed in self-defense, were also restored to their humanity. They recalled nothing of being frozen or having turned into ravenous beasts.

The wedding went off without a hitch and it was well past midnight when the fireworks display signaled the end of the party. By then, Sam and Dean were in a horse drawn carriage, en route to the lodge where they would spend some time alone.

Dean watched Sam’s profile as Sam stared up at the sky, his eyes filled with wonder. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He asked, with eyes only on Sam.

Slowly tearing his gaze away from the fireworks display, Sam turned his attention to his Prince, now his husband and smiled as he nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed though his eyes searched Dean’s with possibly even more wonder. 

“So, are you excited about tonight?” Sam inquired with a blush that quickly spread from his face, down his neck and up to the tips of his ears. He was, as expected, as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. He’d made certain, while Dean had been busy accepting the congratulations of his people, that Crowley had overseen the delivery of the items that he’d requested for his surprise tonight. Only after hearing everything he’d asked for was at the lodge did the case of nerves set in, making him feel as if butterflies had taken up residence in his stomach. 

“About to explode from excitement and curiosity,” Dean teased, running his hand along the side of Sam’s face. “I fired Crowley three times for being so tight lipped. I did get a reaction though, when I asked if you intend to ravish me. Is that it Sam, are you going to?” he asked, his gaze dropping to Sam’s lips.

A soft and rather husky breathless chuckle fell from Sam’s lips as he ducked his head and lowered his gaze demurely. “I dunno, maybe,” he allowed. 

“Really?” Dean grinned. “In that case, I can hardly wait.” Closing an arm around Sam, he pulled him close and kissed him, pushing his tongue inside Sam’s mouth in a very, very unchaste kiss that was a preview of the rest of their night.

A low moan tore from Sam’s throat when Dean’s tongue slipped into his mouth and one hand lifted to cup the newly unscarred side of his lover’s face as he kissed him back eagerly. He inched closer to Dean on the bench seat and leaned halfway into his lap in an attempt to get closer, kiss him harder, love him more. His heart constricting and a soft whimper breaking from his throat at the thought, the memory, of seeing Dean so pale and deathly still in the casket and thinking he’d lost him.

“Mmm,” Dean growled out his pleasure, running his hands over Sam’s back, molding him closer as their mouths moved over each others’. He could hardly believe this was the same boy who used to stiffen when he touched him, or who would find any excuse to delay or forego or even to deny pleasure. “So you missed me? I told you that no good would come of sleeping separately for one night,” he said. “I should have forbidden it.” 

“Maybe,” Sam allowed breathlessly, his lips only a hair's breadth away from Dean’s as he searched his husband’s eyes wantonly. “Or maybe it helped make this even better,” he suggested before leaning back in and capturing his lover’s mouth with his. 

This time Dean pulled Sam over his lap, making a soft sound when Sam’s ass put pressure over his groin, just like he needed. Hand cupping Sam’s head, he kissed him back, tangling his tongue with Sam’s, tugging and pulling on him, wishing they were already at the lodge.

The carriage stopped. A footman stood next to the open carriage and coughed gently.

Jerking his mouth abruptly away from Dean’s, Sam turned his head toward the source of the cough and blushed fiercely. His lips curved into an embarrassed smile as he ducked his head and looked back at Dean. “We should...” he muttered softly as he carefully pulled himself off Dean’s lap. 

“Yes, very well sir, your highness’ lodge, as it were,” the man announced as he took a step back, allowing the pair inside the buggy a clear view of the now finished and refurbished lodge. 

Threading his fingers through Sam’s, Dean helped him alight from the carriage, and swept him inside.


	21. Chapter 21

Three servants were waiting for them. One of them stepped forward, “Would you like us to undress you?” The next one stepped forward, “Fruit or food?” The third gave a curtsy, “Some wine, or … something to aid the libido?”

Sam started to tense. He’d been hoping for alone time with Dean, and not to have three servants there to undress, feed and ply them with spirits.

Dean looked over at Sam for a fraction of a moment, and then turned back to the servant. “We’ll take care of everything. You are dismissed. No one is to disturb us for three days.”

Once they were alone, Sam turned towards Dean and leaned in. Pressing his mouth against Dean’s lips, he teased the corners of Dean’s mouth with his tongue, then tested the seam of his lips. Hearing Dean’s soft moan, he pushed his tongue inside, languidly mapping out every crease and groove of the interior of his husband’s mouth before slowly pulling back to wantonly suckle at Dean’s bottom lip . Releasing the now kiss swollen flesh with an obscene pop, he pulled his head back far enough to look into Dean’s leaf green eyes, a smile curving his lips. “I love you,” he murmured, searching his husband’s eyes adoringly. 

‘I know,” Dean drawled with a twinkle in his eyes. “What?” He asked, knowing exactly what Sam was waiting for, but unable to keep from teasing. 

Sam frowned and shaking his head. “Okay, fine, stay out here, I’m going into the bedroom and getting naked,” he said easing out of Dean’s arms. Turning, he headed toward the bedroom, hands moving to the fastenings of his shirt to unbutton the pearlized buttons along the front. 

“No starting without me,” Dean said, cocking his head as he watched Sam’s ass, and then followed him. Moving up right behind him, he put his arms around Sam’s waist and kissed the side of his neck. “I love you. You know that,” he said, brushing Sam’s hands away and taking over the task of unbuttoning his shirt. A moment later, he grit out, “Dammit... did Crowley sew these things on?” 

Sam laughed outright and slowly turned in his lover’s arms. “Rip them,” he urged. “Go ahead, it’s not like I plan to ever get married again. Rip them,” he repeated. “‘Cause I plan on ripping yours later,” he admitted, lips curving into a wide smile despite the deep blush that stole over his features. 

“You do?” Dean arched his eyebrows at the surprising revelation. Not one to waste an opportunity like this, he grasped both sides of Sam’s garments. Dean tugged firmly, popping the buttons off one at a time, and letting them scatter across the hardwood flooring. Sliding one hand inside the now open shirt, Dean caressed Sam’s abs, then swept his hand up his side, taking a step forward and pushing his leg between Sam’s legs. “Then what do you plan to do with me, Sammy? Tell me,” he whispered, his voice dropping down an octave as he clamped his free hand over Sam’s ass and pulled him up hard against his frame. 

Sam gasped in a soft startled breath, his eyes lowering briefly before lifting back to Dean’s face. “I, um...” he stammered, tongue darting out to lick nervously across his lips. “It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, now would it?” 

Dean maneuvered Sam over to a chest of drawers in the bedroom, lifted him up and sat him on it, immediately stepping between his legs. Staring into Sam’s eyes, he started to slide Sam’s shirt off his shoulders, his eyes burning hotly, roving over every inch of newly exposed bronze skin. “So damned gorgeous.” 

Dipping his head, he kissed his way down from the column of Sam’s neck to his chest, pushing him back slightly, and tonguing his nipple until it tightened into a hard bud. Looking at his handiwork, he went to work on Sam’s other nipple, loving how he tasted, how he responded to him.

A low hummed moan broke from Sam’s throat and his eyes slipped closed, nearly rolling back in his head. One of his hands rose to gently cup the back of his lover’s head in an attempt to hold Dean there, another tortured groan breaking from him. His cock pulsed hotly beneath the fabric of his white dress slacks. “Dean,” Sam breathed softly, wantonly, pushing back against his lover’s mouth. His hips bucked upward of their own accord and his dick pressed painfully against the zipper of his slack.

“Hmm?” Dean scraped his teeth lightly over Sam’s skin, and then licked a path down to his naval. As he pressed moist kisses across Sam’s stomach, he asked in a barely audible whisper, “Will you give yourself to me, tonight?” His heart pounded in his chest as he looked up and locked gazes with Sam, letting him see the aching hunger in his eyes. In his soul. 

A soft whimper broke from Sam’s throat when Dean pulled his mouth away, his eyes opening to passion glazed slits. He nodded shyly and breathed out a soft, “Yes.”.

Sam reached for the front of Dean’s shirt, closing both fists around the silky soft material. One hard tug on each side was enough to rend the material and send pearlized buttons raining down to the floor. 

Dean shrugged his shirt off, letting it float to the ground. “Love you. Love you, Sam,” he whispered, kissing him, then lowering his head as he started to unfasten Sam’s pants. 

Sam smiled contentedly at Dean’s kiss but he quickly stilled Dean’s hand, stopping him. When Dean looked up at him curiously, Sam shook his head ‘no.’ “You first,” he rasped softly, another blush staining his cheeks. “I have...surprises.” 

“You’ve got surprises … in your pants?” Dean’s eyes widened. “If it’s a chastity belt, I swear I’m going to kill Crowley.” He frowned, then smiled. “Is it a cock ring? Did you get my name tattooed onto your dick... did you get pierced?!” With each guess, his eyebrows climbed higher on his forehead.

Sam laughed and shook his head, “No, and it’s a surprise!” he retorted, merriment dancing within the depths of his eyes. “Now go get on the bed,” he said, jutting his head in the direction of the large four poster bed. “And close your eyes,” he added as an afterthought as he started to get off the dresser. 

Dean closed his arms around Sam, giving out a pained groan as he slid down against his body, pressing against his arousal. “Giving orders? Should I call you ‘Master’?” he asked, pulling Sam with him as he walked backwards to bed. 

Sam blushed a dark shade of maroon and a husky chuckle broke from his throat. “We’ll see,” he allowed with an impish grin. 

“I want to undress you,” Dean said, his hands going to Sam’s hips, his fingers curling under the waistband of his pants. “I want you naked and hard. I want to touch you all over,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and looking up at Sam, tugging him suddenly and pressing a hot kiss to Sam’s stomach.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat and his cock throbbed within the confines of his dress slacks. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His lips parted, but no sound came out of his lips once Dean’s warm lips started to move over his abdomen. 

God was Sam thankful in that moment for the bright red cock ring that Crowley had found for him, knowing how much Dean liked him in red and not wanting to spoil the night by coming too quickly. He’d been terrified when he’d looked at the thing but Crowley had assured him that it didn’t hurt and that it would not damage his “goods” as the man had referred to his tallywhacker. He’d asked Crowley to put it on him and he was certain that they were both trembling a little when he did, however once the deed was finished, they had both breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Dean, you’re gonna ruin my surprise,” Sam whispered hoarsely, finding it impossible to pull away. 

“Am I?” Dean gave a smirk, happy to hear he was effective, but he released Sam. “Okay, we’ll do it however you want, Sammy.” And yet, he couldn’t resist running his mouth along the hard length of Sam’s cock straining against his pants.

“Sammy?” Sam inquired huskily, brow creasing with distaste. “Don’t call me Sammy, my maaaa....” his words were stolen away from him as Dean’s mouth found its way to his cock, teasing it through the material of his slacks. His hips bucked of their own accord and intelligible sounds broke from Sam’s lips. “Oh God, oh God, oh God...” he chanted, trying to fit one hand down between his dick and Dean’s mouth to pinch off the orgasm he could feel building. When nothing happened he heaved a sigh of relief, a drunken goofy smile curving his lips at the fact that the ring had actually done its job. He slowly, dreamily, blinked open his eyes when Dean pulled his mouth away, his limbs feeling like over cooked noodles. 

Dean crawled backwards on the bed and settling against the pillows and headboard and watching Sam like a cat unwilling to part with its toy. “Gimme what you got.”

Sam scrambled to pull his wits together in order to carry out what he had planned so carefully before Dean had turned his brain to the consistency of sludge. “Um, okay, but you have to lay back... like with your head on the pillows,” he instructed. “But clothes off first, all of ’em.” 

“Let me get this straight. You want me naked?” Dean started to slowly unfasten his pants. “And spread out in front of you. Do you want me hard?” he asked, slowly easing his pants down his hips and very aware of the way Sam was watching him. He didn’t flinch at the way Sam’s eyes roved over him. His scars were gone, as were his insecurities. 

Sam licked his lips, his brow creasing as his eyes darted down toward Dean’s crotch. “Are- aren’t you?” he inquired, worry blossoming in the pit of his stomach at the thought that Dean wasn’t as turned on as he was. 

“Aren’t I what?” Dean asked, a predatory look etched on his face.

Sam’s lips parted then pressed together, a panicked look entering his eyes. He started to fidget nervously, his hands shaking as he tried to find a place for them, putting them first in his pockets then pulling them out and holding them behind his back then pulling them back around to the front of him as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Um, you’re not... uh, ha-hard? T-tur-turned on?” he asked, a blush immediately blooming over his features. 

“Say it again,” Dean demanded, pushing his pants off and letting Sam see just how hard he was. He licked his lips. “Say it and I’ll get harder for you.” 

Sam’s eyes lowered immediately to Dean’s groin as his lover pushed his pants down and off, a relieved breath escaping him when Dean’s hard shaft jumped free from beneath the confines of the material. His gaze darted back up to his husband’s face, his tongue darting out to lick across his lower lip. He ran the statement that Crowley made him memorize through his head, trying hard not to blush at the mere thought of the words. He forced himself to lock gazes with Dean the way Crowley told him to and took a deep, fortifying breath. 

“Hard,” Sam said softly. “Want you to ache for me. Want to see you squirm beneath my touch and feel you writhe in pleasure under me before I let you take me,” he said, his voice trembling slightly with the words. 

Dean imagined everything Sam said, and could not look away. “I do. I ache for you,” he rasped. “I want you hard for me. I want you to want me inside you. Want to hear you call my name,” he said.

Sam drew in a ragged breath and one hand moved to stave off any sign of release though the cock ring had a good handle on that and the gesture was unnecessary. He swallowed hard and gave a nod. “Lay...Lay back for me,” he rasped softly. “Please,” he added as he took a tentative step toward the bed, his attention darting to the night stand briefly and what he knew waited within the drawer. 

Slowly, Dean laid back, his eyes still focused on Sam. He put his hand out. “Don’t make me wait. I need you.” He practically willed Sam to come to him.

Sam gave a nod and sat down on the edge of the bed facing Dean. He leaned over and brushed his lips across Dean’s in a soft chaste kiss before pulling back. “Just... gimme a minute,” he murmured. “I - I think you’ll like this...” he stammered nervously as he turned at the waist and reached for the drawer of the night stand, pulling it open. He withdrew two silken emerald green scarves from inside before sliding it back closed. 

Turning his attention back to Dean he reached for one of his lover’s wrists and began to gently wrap the silken material around his wrist as he locked gazes with Dean.

Dean’s lips quirked up as he watched Sam tie his wrist. His gaze moved to Sam’s eyes. “You once asked me why?” he reminded Sam. “Do you understand why, now?” As Sam pulled the material tight, he bit his lower lip, but never looked away.

Sam’s lips curved into a smile and his face flushed a bright crimson as he nodded, keeping his attention fixed on what he was doing as he fastened the other end of the scarf to the headboard. Once he’d finished he pulled to his feet and walked around the bed, sitting down next to Dean on that side and reaching for his wrist. Once he was completely finished with tying Dean’s wrists to the headboard, he stood up.

“I have something...” Sam murmured as he unbuttoned and lowered the fly of his slacks. “That I think you might like,” he finished as he pushed the material down, past his hips and thighs, allowing it to pool at his knees, revealing the red mesh underwear that Crowley had picked up for him, his hard dick with its base held securely by a matching cock ring visible through the widely woven mesh. 

Dean’s eyes widened. “Sam,” he hissed, his gaze roving hotly over every inch of his husband’s body and lingering on his tenting, completely see-through briefs. “Red...” he swallowed. “Come closer, I want to see.” His chest heaved a little with the deeper breaths he was taking.

Sam took a tentative step closer, his own breaths coming in softly ragged pants. He swallowed hard as he watched Dean’s face. “You - you like it, don’t you?” he asked softly as he ran one hand nervously down over his abs. 

“Hell yeah.” Forgetting he was bound, Dean yanked his hand, trying to reach for Sam, and then raised his eyes to meet Sam’s. “Want to see... want to touch. The things you do to me, you don’t know the half of it,” he said, tossing his head back to get his hair off his face.

“Soon,” Sam promised as he shuffled closer, his pants around his ankles impeding his progress slightly. Finally reaching the bed, he sat down on the edge next to Dean and leaned over, pulling off his shoes and socks before straightening and kicking his slacks the rest of the way off. 

Dressed now only in the red mesh briefs, he turned toward Dean and leaned over him, one arm reaching across his husband to press against the mattress on the other side of him. Pushing up onto his hands and knees as he turned further toward Dean and he threw a leg over his lover as he sat back, straddling him. 

Dean’s gaze never strayed from Sam, his face lifting as Sam’s weight pressed him down into the mattress. “This. It feels like a dream,” he said. “I’m afraid to wake up.” 

“Heh,” Sam breathed as he shook his head. “If it’s a dream, then I put Crowley to an awful lotta trouble for nothing.” 

“It’s his job... and when it’s about me, put him through as much trouble as you like.” 

Leaning over, Sam pressed his hands to the mattress on each side of his husband’s body and dipped his head, kissing the center of Dean’s chest and slowly making his way over to one nipple. Drawing it into his mouth, he sucked at the tiny nub and swirled his tongue around it before nipping at it and sucking again. He pulled his head back and slowly released the now hardened nub with an obscene pop, the very sound causing Sam’s features to flush brightly. He glanced up toward Dean’s face briefly before lowering it once more and then closing his eyes as he dipped his head and captured its twin, repeating the attentions he’d lavished on his lover’s opposite nipple. 

Eyes closing, Dean gave a soft sound of pleasure, squirming slightly under Sam’s hot, wet lips. “Good,” he whispered, reaching for Sam again, and just barely holding in a stream of curses at his inability to touch him. “Yeah... “ He squeezed his eyes tighter as Sam’s tongue curled around his nipple. 

Releasing the nipple he’d been suckling at, Sam lifted his head marginally and his heavy lidded gaze dropped to his husband’s dusky nipples, now wet and glistening under the soft firelight gleaming over his skin. He lowered his head again, kissing along Dean’s breast bone as he slowly inched his way backward, down his husband’s body on his hands and knees. 

As wave after wave of heat washed over Dean, he swallowed hard. His muscles clenched as Sam’s mouth move lower, torturing his flesh ever so slowly. “You ah.... you haven’t been practicing, have you? I mean when you were on Earth?” The hint of jealousy in his tone surprised Dean. It had always been his philosophy that the more training and experience one got with other people, the better it was for him.

Sam suddenly lifted his head, his brow creasing with confusion. He licked his lips a bit nervously as he searched Dean’s face. “Why...? Did... Are you saying you wanted me to?” 

“No!” Dean let out a couple breaths. “Just that... you’ve never... to me.. not like this.”

A deep blush stole over Sam’s features. “I never said I didn’t know how to woo a girl, I said I’d never done it,” he corrected. “And not that you’re a girl, but I figure the wooin’s about the same.” He caught his bottom lip between his teeth. “Isn’t it? I mean, am I doin’ okay?” he asked, now self-conscious. 

“Keep wooing... move south,” Dean advised, raising his hips slightly and chuckling. “You’re doing great... my cock can’t lie to you.” He laid back, trying to relax, and telling himself not to distract Sam.

Sam’s lips curved into a wide grin as he scooted back a bit further. He huffed out an amused breath as a wry smile twisted his lips. “Elizabeth was definitely disappointed...” he mumbled half under his breath with a slight nod. 

“What?!” Dean raised his upper body, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I thought you didn’t _practice._ And just why the hell would she be disappointed?” He didn’t know if he was madder because Sam had tried to _practice_ , or at the fact that she found him lacking!

Sam’s head snapped up and his surprised gaze met Dean’s. “Huh? I didn’t...” he swallowed hard, “No, I meant she was disappointed because I told her I was off the market.” 

“Oh. Oh!” Dean repeated, Sam’s words sinking in. “Yeah... you are,” he said, punctuating his declaration with a nod. “You’re mine. Although at this moment, I’m all yours. Mouth... on me, now” he ordered, giving Sam a look. 

Sam stifled his laughter and speared his tongue, licking downward along the center of Dean’s stomach, pausing at his navel to dip his tongue inside the small dimple. He flicked his tongue inside before lowering his mouth and sucking softly at the delicate skin around the indented flesh. He then sucked at the area lightly before withdrawing his lips and licking across it once more with the flat of his tongue. 

Easing back a tad more, he dipped his head and traced the line of fine soft hairs that lead down to the thatch of wiry sandy hued hair framing his lover’s hard cock. Reaching it, he leaned in and nuzzled his face against Dean’s balls, warm breath fanning them before he lifted his head. He curled his fingers around his husband’s length and gave Dean’s cock a good firm stroke before swiping the pad of his thumb across the tip. Opening his mouth he wrapped his lips around the crown of his lover’s cock and sucked at the sensitive tip hard enough to hollow out his cheeks. 

Dean’s knees came up, bracketing Sam’s body. “I know where you got your practice for this,” he bit his lip as his cock surged with heat. “Ahhh... Sam, so damned good.” He looked up at the bindings around his wrists. “I want to stroke your hair, to push your head down. I can’t do any of those things, I... how does that make _you_ … feel?” he asked, pausing due to the intensity of the sensations washing through him.

Sam lifted his head, allowing the head of Dean’s cock to slip from his mouth. His lips twitched upward at the corners, but rather than answering, he dipped his head and unceremoniously latched onto the jut of bone at Dean’s now unscarred hip, sucking and gently biting at it. 

“Oh God!” Dean exclaimed, his body jerking at the unexpected sensation. “You’re... you’re really something.” Looking down at Sam, he licked his lips. “You’re killing me slowly.”

Releasing his hold on Dean’s hip, Sam slowly lifted his head, licking his lips as he sat back upright. He shook his head as he searched Dean’s face. “No,” he retorted. “Is it...bad? Or was that a _good_ killing you?” 

“Check my cock,” Dean gave him a smug smile. “Does it look happy?” He raised his hips up, hinting at what he needed. “Gimme more, Sammy.”

Sam’s cheeks once again flushed brightly and he was beginning to wonder if this was his lot in life now, to go through it the color of a beet. He nodded slightly and returned his attention to Dean’s cock, stroking his fist up and down its length and pivoting with each glide of his hand. “I...” his lips curved into an embarrassed grin. “The surprises for you....” he lifted his gaze to meet Dean’s. “I’m not exactly sure when I’m supposed to use them.” 

“More surprises... oh boy. Oh God... Keep doing that, fuck...Ngh...” Dean’s breaths started to come out harsher. It took him a moment to pull himself together. “Tell me about them. I can walk you through it.”

Sam looked skeptical. “Crowley says I’m not supposed to let you know what they are until I use them.” 

“You gonna listen to Crowley or to me?” Dean asked, closing his hands around the scarves. “If... if you keep that up, I’m gonna come soon,” Dean warned, his eyes closing as a groan slipped from his lips.

Sam actually giggled as he shook his head, “No you won’,” he retorted. “It’s kinda one of the things Crowley found for me. A green one...” 

“What?”

“And there’s some nipple clamps, some sort of oil that he claims is supposed to warm up and tingle, and....” Sam murmured then allowed his words to trail off, blushing profusely. “This...” he swallowed hard. “Well, uh... Crowley called it a...a...” his brow creased as he tried to remember the word. “Dildo. But he said it was for yer...” his eyes darted down pointedly then lifted back up to meet Dean’s, another deep blush coloring his cheeks. “And it vibrates...” 

“I see. Keep talking like that and I _will_ come,” Dean promised. “Oil, rub the oil on me and you can clamp me.” Just thinking about Sam touching him like that had his cock pulsing. 

“Now?” Sam asked, his gaze flickering from Dean’s dick in his fist to his lover’s face. “Uh, maybe I should get the...” he suggested with a wave toward his own cock ring, “on you first...”

“Good idea,” Dean agreed quickly. “Maybe you should get over here and let me lick you right through your shorts,” he suggested. “A lot more fun with both of us hard.”

Sam’s brow quirked slightly and his gaze darted from Dean’s face down to his cock and back. “Uh... I am hard....” 

“Then get up on your knees so I can see. And move close,” he stuck his tongue out, curling its tip slowly up in a suggestive motion. 

Sam rose up and waddled forward on his knees, stopping just short of where Dean could reach him with his mouth. Turning at the waist toward the nightstand, he got the oil and the cock ring and laid them down on the mattress. As he scooted back so he could straddle his husband’s hips, he laughed at the frustrated oath that left Dean’s lips.

He popped the vial’s lid with his thumb and poured a good amount of oil onto his palm and rubbed the slick liquid between his hands, warming it up. Then he put his hands on Dean’s chest, massaging the oil into his lover’s skin, paying special attention to Dean’s sensitive nipples just the way Crowley had said to. He watched Dean’s nipples harden, and loved how his husband trembled under his touch. . 

“Tell me how,” Sam rasped softly. “Tell me how you’ll make love to me.” 

“For an innocent, you’re _so_ evil,” Dean said, frustrated and writhing. And loving every moment of it. “I’m gonna love you slowly, just like you’re doing to me. I’m gonna bring you to the edge and back, and back to the edge until you can only think of me. And I’m gonna kiss you, kiss you all over. Gonna love you, not just with my body, but with my heart and my soul,” he promised.

Sam’s attention turned to Dean’s face and his features softened as Dean spoke until he finally leaned in and crushed his mouth over his husband’s, kissing him passionately, teasing the roof of his lover’s mouth. He tangled their tongues together until he ran out of breath and pulled back. His lips were swollen and reddened from the kiss, his breaths panting soft from between parted lips. “I love you, Dean.” 

“Don’t--” Dean protested when Sam pulled away. He tried to focus his fuzzy gaze on Sam’s face, smiling at him a little. “Me too. Love you, Sam. Now kiss me, touch me, do the things you promised. Then be mine, only mine,” he said, his voice thick with desire and emotion.

Sam nodded mutely and leaned back in, slanting his mouth over Dean’s with a soft moan while he began to once again move his hands over Dean, smearing the warming cinnamon scented oil over Dean’s chest. 

Every inch of Dean’s skin tingled and warmed up as Sam’s hands moved over him. His nipples hardened to almost painful nubs. He felt Sam scoot down over his body, felt the press of his hard cock against him and wanted... wanted so much. He tugged at the bindings on his wrist, letting Sam see exactly how he was feeling, letting him share the experience.

Sam moaned into Dean’s mouth as he slowly eased his body down onto his lover’s, blanketing his husband’s body with his own. His hips rolled, moving against Dean’s own in a rhythm as old as time. His hands moved down from Dean’s chest, along his lover’s sides, fingertips brushing lightly over warm smooth skin. Another groan broke from Sam’s throat as he bucked lightly causing his hard mesh clad dick to slide against Dean’s. 

“More,” Dean begged, grinding his hips up against Sam’s. “So good, so good, baby.” For a while, they moved against each other in time, moans and groans echoing around them. Dean eventually locked his legs around Sam, gaining a little more control and getting more pressure. His breaths became more labored, the sounds he made growing more desperate.

Sam reluctantly pulled back a little, “I - I should get that...the ring....” he panted softly. 

“Yeah... I’m getting close... But one touch from you and I’d get hard all over again. You _know_ how you affect me. What about you... you feel like coming?” he asked silkily, “Ring working for you?”

Sam blushed again and lowered his gaze as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. Instead of answering, he rose up onto his hands and lifted one, reaching for the ring that he’d placed down on the mattress. Opening it, he glanced up at Dean’s face then sat back and inched his way down his lover’s body, his mesh clad ass, dragging over Dean’s flesh as he moved. Straddling his husband’s leg, he lowered his hands to his lover’s dick and wrapped the ring around the base. Lifting his head, he eyes intent on Dean’s, he slowly closed the fastening, locking it shut. “Better?” he murmured. 

Dean groaned. “Not really.” A curse left him as Sam pumped his cock a few times. “I have a feeling I have a long, _hard_ , night ahead of me.” Between the lotion that made his skin extra sensitive, the texturized mesh shorts that kept grazing his flesh and the pressure of Sam’s hard cock pressing into him, Dean thought he might go mad with need. 

Sam smirked and dropped down, blanketing Dean again. He pressed a soft and far too chaste kiss to his husband’s lips then drew his head back out of Dean’s reach. He pulled partly away again as he reached out with one hand toward the nightstand and reached into the drawer. A deep blush stained his features even before he withdrew the large thick dildo that Crowley had found for him. 

Dean’s eyes widened. Sam had said he planned on using one, but Dean had been pretty sure that Sam wouldn’t be able to bring himself to, not yet. “Is that for my mouth or for...” He asked, barely holding in his laughter at Sam’s discomfort evidenced by his deep blush, and eyes which refused to meet his own.

Sam ducked his head and made a slightly strangled sounding noise before he found his voice. “Crow- Crowley didn’t say anything about your mouth...” he admitted. “So, yeah, I guess...for...you know... least that’s what he told me to do with it...” 

“Since it vibrates,” Dean answered, “Yeah, not for my mouth. Is this... is it something you want to try? You’re very new to this,” he said, wondering what the fuck had gotten into him. The old Dean would never have allowed someone he wanted to back off, find an escape exit, no way. Yet here he was giving Sam an out, if he wanted it. “If you’re not comfortable with this yet... we can try it when you are,” he said, his gaze dropping to Sam’s fist around the dildo.

Sam finally faced Dean. “Do you not want...? I mean, if you don’t then no, but...I mean, if you want... I can try...” he licked his lips and swallowed hard. “Not gonna promise to be really good with it, but...”

“I just want you to enjoy everything we do,” Dean answered. “I don’t want you trying something you’re not ready for.” _And then pulling away_ , thought Dean, although he didn’t voice that thought.

Sam shook his head, “I’m okay... it’s just...” he blushed fiercely, “I... this is kinda out of my knowledge, so, um... maybe you can...direct me? Let me know if I’m getting it wrong or something?” 

“Okay. First, you have to kiss me. Then you lubricate the tip real well. Then you kiss me again. Then you lube my hole and slowly work the dildo inside me. Turn it on …”

Sam aid the vibrator aside and slanted his mouth over Dean’s, tongue licking in past his lover’s lips and into his mouth. He kissed Dean languidly, slowly mapping out every corner and crevice. Soft moans broke from his throat as Dean returned his kisses and he found himself once again, rolling his hips wantonly against his husband’s. 

As they kissed, Dean struggled to get closer. A little of the lotion had smeared across his lips when Sam had touched him there, and now his lips throbbed and burned each time Sam’s mouth moved over his. By now, the lotion would have rubbed off on most of Sam too, he’d be enjoying... or suffering... its effects soon enough. Without thinking, he started to roll to his side, his body pressing slightly over Sam’s even as the silk scarfs started to cut into his wrist. 

Sam groaned into the kiss, his skin beginning to tingle wherever his body touched Dean’s. His head jerked back and he gasped in a breath, eyes shooting open wide when he felt them start to roll. “Wha’...?” he breathed, his sides rising and falling now with each breath. 

He let out a soft sigh of relief when he realized their movement had been caused by Dean. Rather than resuming the kiss, he sat back, straddling his lover as he gazed down at Dean through passion heavy lidded eyes. A drunken smile curved his lips as he searched his husband’s face, awed by the way Dean’s lips seemed to be a bit fuller, swollen by their kisses. The way his chest rose and fell heavily with each breath and the way his dark pupils nearly ate up the usual green stare that he’d come to be so fond of. “Who’s the beauty now?” he asked softly. 

“You. Definitely you,” Dean countered, though his heart sang a little. His scars might never have bothered Sam, but they had bothered Dean. Now, he could accept the compliment without doubts, without a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. 

“Want you. Want you so much...” Dean was used to playing games, for hours at a time. And yet, when he was with Sam, delay didn’t come as easily.

Sam flushed and wiggled backward along Dean’s body, his ass dragging across his lover’s skin. He shifted and knelt between Dean’s legs. Leaning forward slightly, he reached for the warming lube and the vibe. Too embarrassed to look up at Dean, yet able to feel his lover watching his every move, Sam popped the cap on the lube and drizzled a good amount along the length of the dildo. 

“Um, how do I...? I mean, your...how do I put it there?” he asked anxiously, still unwilling to look up, his voice trembling a bit as he spoke. 

“Are you trying to get me to ‘talk dirty’ to you?” Dean teased. “Push a pillow under me,” he suggested, lifted up off the mattress to let Sam slide one under his ass. “You put it in slowly, but _deep_ ,”” Dean purred. “It’s nice if you slide it in, pull it back out a little and push it in deeper.”

Sam fidgeted nervously with the first of Dean’s words, his throat convulsing as he swallowed. “Like I would my tallywh....um....” he glanced down at his crotch before returning his gaze to his husband’s face. “With a woman....” he concluded with a curt nod. “Okay...” he murmured, blowing out a breath. He lifted a hand and ran it back through his hair as he took in a deep fortifying breath. “Here goes nothin’,” he muttered under his breath. 

He took the lube bottle and held it a little above his lover’s crack then squeezed it, allowing the warming lube to trickle down over Dean’s balls and to his hole. Satisfied that he had it lubed enough, he replaced the cap with his thumb and laid the bottle aside. Lining up the tip of the vibe with Dean’s hole he glanced up at his husband. 

“Tell me to stop if it hurts or if I do something wrong,” he directed. 

Concentrating on relaxing his muscles, Dean merely nodded and opened his legs a little wider. Just as he felt the pressure of the tip of the dildo, he noticed Sam’s worried look and gave him an encouraging smile. “Push it in, a little at a time. You can move it in circles.... uh... good,” he said, trying to hide the initial pain of being breached.

Sam sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as his eyes darted between watching what he was doing and Dean’s face. He slowly pushed the dildo in past the ring of muscle and nearly yanked it back out in a panic, his eyes wide as saucers when he heard Dean’s hitch. “Is it okay? Are you alright? Want me to stop?” he asked in rapid fire succession. 

Holding his breath, Dean just shook his head ‘no,’ gripping the scarves tighter. He braced, steeling himself and vowing not to worry Sam any more.

Sam bit his lower lip and started to concentrate again, slowly pushing the dildo deeper, marveling at the way Dean’s body seemed to greedily suck it inside. He lifted his gaze to Dean’s face and offering a slightly shaky smile before lowering it back to the dildo. Following Dean’s instructions, he drew back only to push it in deeper the next time. His hand grew sweaty from white knuckled grip he had on it. He reached with his opposite hand for the small switch that would turn on the vibrations. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened, darting between the vibe and his lover’s face when he felt the thing in his hand start to vibrate worse than his Pa’s wagon when they’d drive it across the gravel roads back home. 

Dean let out a breath. “Press it downward a little... Yes!” he practically tore the scarf that bound his right hand when he jerked at the intensity of the sensations from the vibrator pulsing against his prostate. “Ungh... yeah....” He bit his lower lip, pushed his head into the pillow and closed his eyes.

Jolt after jolt of heat rushed through him, building low in his belly. His fingers started to clench and unclench. Planting his feet flat on the mattress, he started to writhe and lift his hips up. 

As the minutes passed, and the need to come grew stronger, Dean started to mentally curse at the cock ring that made it impossible. “Oh God.... oh fuck.... I need... Sam.... Sammy...” he said, his voice shaking with the vibrations that went through his body. “It... off ... fuck... need to come... want to...”

Sam’s eyes darted back and forth between Dean’s face and the vibrator. Crowley had said Dean would mutter all kinds of crazy things and bloody likely threaten to call for him in an attempt to get his way but for Sam to ignore it, that it only meant he was doing it right. While he might have agreed that he would do just as Crowley said at the time, now he was having second thoughts. “Um, are you... Does it hurt?”   
“No. Yes...” Unable to get his thoughts together, Dean shook his head from side to side. It was a lot... a lot of stimulation... a lot of time passing, with no release. If he didn’t have that damned cock ring on, he’d have shot his load a long time ago. “I... oh God.... Need to come. Ring... off... need to...” his eyes grew bleary, so bleary he could only see Sam through a fog. His entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat. His cock was so damned hard, he bet he was as hard as the vibrator itself. “Now... Sam...” he ordered.

Sam reached out with his free hand, curling his fingers around Dean’s cock and stroked it slowly. “Does it feel good?” he inquired, a note of awe in his voice, able to see just how hot Dean looked now that he knew he wasn’t hurting him. 

“G... good.” With Sam’s hand closed around his cock and giving him some pressure, Dean couldn’t do much more than agree. “But... but... too much.... Sam,” he raised his head and tried to get Sam’s attention.

Sam’s gaze lowered with Dean’s affirmation that it felt good. He watched his hand slide along Dean’s length while his other hand pulled the vibe party way out of his lover’s ass and then pushed it back in deep, over and over again. 

“Wow,” he breathed, his gaze running over Dean’s body, mesmerized by the pearl of precome that had gathered at the tip of the dark purple hued crown of his husband’s cock. 

Just when Dean thought Sam understood, he felt the vibrator pulsing against his prostate again, making his entire body thrum. “Nuff.... it’s enough...” he stuttered. “Had enough... Need to come. Ring off... pull it out...” Even he wasn’t sure he was making any sense anymore.

Sam’s attention snapped to Dean’s face. “Take the ring off?” he inquired then nodded. “Okay.” Pulling at the fastenings with one hand, he continued moving the dildo in and out of his husband. Finally, he managed to not only unfasten it, but the green cock ring shot halfway across the room in the process. 

Dean arched up off the mattress. shouting out his release as his hot cum gushed out of him and sprayed all over his stomach, some of it hitting Sam. “Pull the vibrator out,” he said through clenched teeth, riding out his almost painful climax until it eased, and was replaced with pleasure and the satisfaction that came with release. 

_That didn’t mean Crowley wasn’t a dead man._

Slowly, he lowered back down onto the mattress. “You really... know how to make a man come,” Dean said, licking his lips and gasping for breath. “What... what did you think of this?” 

Sam’s eyes were wide as saucers. He was fairly certain that they probably heard the prince’s shout all the way back in the castle. The question had him thinking hard, and licking his suddenly parched lips. His own breaths were just as ragged as Dean’s, seeing as how turned on he’d gotten seeing his husband come that hard. 

Crawling up the mattress to spread himself out at his lover’s side, he reached for his husband’s bound hand above where he lay and took hold of the scarf wrapped around Dean’s wrist, untying it and freeing Dean’s arm. “I thought it was.... amazing,” he murmured.

“Yeah?” Dean panted, closing his free hand around Sam’s waist. “Me too,” he said, meaning it, even if he might have stopped things five minutes back. “I liked how you watched me,” he added, closing his other arm around Sam as soon as it was freed, and pulling Sam down over him. 

His cock was a little sensitive, but feeling how hard Sam was over him, Dean didn’t care. “Are you mine now?” he asked, though he didn’t give Sam a chance to answer. Instead, he moved his hand behind Sam’s head and joined their mouths together in a long, heated kiss, putting all the ache, all the need he’d suffered into it.

Sam groaned into the kiss, his answer lost upon his tongue as it danced with Dean’s, sliding in and out of his lover’s mouth before teasing his husband’s tongue into his mouth and capturing it, sucking it the way he would Dean’s cock. 

Taking that for a ‘yes,’ Dean groaned. As soon as Sam stopped sucking, he explored every corner of his mouth, then tangled their tongues together has he rolled on top of Sam, moving his hips and rubbing against Sam’s hard cock, feeling how hard he was right through the mesh shorts. He found a steady rhythm and kept it going until he knew that Sam was on the edge, that it was only the cock ring that kept him from coming.

Abruptly, he rolled off the bed. Reaching out, he grabbed Sam’s hand, grinning at Sam’s stunned look. “Just pulling you back from the edge. C’mon... need a shower and then...” He wanted to recover himself before he gave Sam exactly what he’d promised.

Sam stared stupefied up at Dean and swallowed hard though his confusion showed in the depths of his hazel green eyes. “Sh-shower?” he echoed dumbly as he blinked owlishly up at Dean. He pulled up into a sitting position on the bed and nodded. “Um, yeah...okay...” he reluctantly agreed, a little worried that maybe he had done something wrong. As he stood to his feet, he glanced back over his shoulder at the bed before following alongside Dean toward the privy. 

“I’m gonna undress you in the shower. Start loving you there,” Dean whispered, seeing the uncertainty in Sam’s eyes. He stopped and slid his hand into Sam’s shorts. Closing his hand around Sam’s hard dick, he pumped a few times. “I think you could use a little loving. Don’t you think you could use some?”

Sam’s hips cantered forward and his body swayed toward Dean’s as he gazed up into his lover’s face, a grunted moan leaving him as his eyes fluttered closed briefly before opening again, the lids passion heavy. “Huh?” he breathed drunkenly, eyes rolling a little in his head as his lips twitched upward slightly at the corners briefly into a lust dazed smile. “Mmmmm,” he hummed as he nodded. “Yeah....” he breathed softly as he continued to sway toward his lover, into Dean’s touch.

Chuckling, Dean pulled his hand out and swept Sam into his arms, walking him backwards to the privy. “I have a thing for you all wet. You know that,” he said, giving Sam a heated look.

Sam smiled goofily at his husband, an adoring look in his eye as he searched Dean’s face. “Want you to...” his face flushed heatedly. “I wanna be yours,” he breathed instead, unable to say the words. 

“You are. Mine,” Dean said with finality. “Water. Warm.” On his order, gentle sprays of water rained down on them from the ceiling and from two walls. Dean squeezed Sam’s ass, kneading it through his shorts. “Suds.”

Suddenly soap suds rained on them. “You had me work up a sweat,” Dean said with a grin. “Plus I don’t want you waking up stuck to me. I mean I’m good with the stuck, but I know you’re not.” 

Sam smiled and ducked his head shyly. “Maybe this time,” he allowed on a soft mumble. 

Dean started soaping himself with one hand and Sam with the other. Sometimes he leaned in and stole a kiss. Sometimes he touched Sam in ways calculated to stimulate him, to get him to move his hips. He’d watch Sam’s face as he let him fuck against his thigh, but he’d always stop him before long, even though cock ring would help Sam. 

The suds stopped, and water poured over them, rinsing the soap away. Grabbing the waistband of Sam’s shorts, Dean suddenly dropped down to his knees, taking Sam’s briefs with him. He ran his hands up and down Sam’s calves and powerful thighs, his gaze lifting to his cock. “Is there anything you want me to do, while you have me on my knees?” he asked.

Sam’s head bowed as Dean went to his knees. He sucked in a gasp of breath when his briefs were tugged down and released a shuddering breath at his lover’s inquiry. He licked his suddenly dry lips as his eyes slipped closed, heart hammering in his chest to loudly he was certain that Dean could hear it. “Do...whatever you want to do,” he murmured, voice quivering. 

“No. What do you want me to do, Sam?” He refused to waver. “After everything we’ve done, you know you can tell me. Tell me how to pleasure you.”

Sam pried his eyes open and his mouth moved, though he couldn’t seem to get the words out. He licked his lips and tried clearing his throat in an attempt to gather his courage. “I want... I want to be one with you,” he murmured shyly, face turning a deep shade of scarlet with his words. 

“I want to be with you too. Do you want to be in my mouth first?” Dean asked, getting more specific. “Or want me to lick you here?” he asked, running a finger along the underside of Sam’s dick, over his balls, and swirling it around over his puckered hole. “Hmm? C’mon, Sammy. Must be something you really want from me.”

“I....” Sam flushed and shook his head. “Nothing, you’ll just think it’s stupid...” 

“Please. Please, Sammy. Tell me,” Dean begged, slowly getting up. “I’m your husband now. Anything... anything goes between us. Nothing is stupid... it’s about how you feel,” he explained, kissing him lightly.

 

Sam swallowed hard and was about to again shake his head and refuse to say what he was thinking but the sincere look in Dean’s eyes made him change his mind though he still ducked his head shyly as he spoke. “I - I want you to touch me. Caress me. Want to feel you... all over me...” he murmured so softly he wasn’t certain at first if Dean had heard him. 

“I can do that. I’d love to do that. Sammy, I’m dying to do that,” Dean answered. “You want it here, in the shower, or on the bed?” He pressed against Sam, giving him a sample, and kissing along the side of his neck. “I’ll touch you everywhere, and in places you never dreamed. I swear it.”

Sam’s breath hitched and his eyes squeezed tightly closed as a low moan tore from his throat at the touch of Dean’s mouth against the side of his neck. He tilted his head to the side, offering up more of the long expanse of smooth skin along his throat to his lover. Blinking his eyes open, he gave into Dean’s face lovingly despite the uncertainty within the depths of his eyes. 

“I, uh...” he stammered, tongue darting out to nervously lick across his lips. “I don’t know exactly _how_ to do it in here.... What do I do?”

“You just let me love you.” Dean put his hands flat against the marble walls on either side of Sam’s shoulders. “No reason to be scared. Just gonna touch and kiss and pleasure you in here, while you’re standing and... wet. You know how much I like it when you’re wet,” he said thickly, his gaze dropping to Sam’s swollen and reddened lower lip. “Then I’ll take you to bed. Make you mine.”

Sam nodded with his lips pressed into a firm line. “I’m not scared,” he retorted, though the tremor that followed called him a liar. He ducked his head and his face flushed a bright crimson. “Well, maybe a little...” he allowed softly. 

“Don’t be. I’d never hurt you,” Dean promised. “And here, in the shower... if I stop, I _know_ you’re going to want to kill me.” Giving Sam a smirk that said he knew what he was talking about, Dean used both hands to cup the sides of Sam’s face, his thumbs resting under Sam’s jaw. He lifted Sam’s face up, so he was looking at the ceiling, while water sprayed at them from their sides. “Steam,” he whispered, and gusts of hot steam swirled around them. They’d shroud him from Sam’s view, effectively blindfolding him. 

Lowering his mouth, he kissed Sam’s throat, every inch of it. Licking and nibbling, slowly making his way up to his jaw and moving his hands away to make room. He traced the outline of Sam’s firm lips with his own, sometimes running his tongue over Sam’s lips, sometime stroking Sam’s tongue when it came out to play. Sweeping his mouth across Sam’s, he started to kiss his face, his eyes, loving him slowly, and always coming back to his mouth, though he refused to be drawn into a kiss just yet.

A soft whimper left Sam, his tongue darting out whenever Dean’s mouth came close to his own and each time a frustrated sound would leave him as his body arched toward Dean’s. 

“Please...” he whispered breathlessly, hips cantering forward toward Dean’s. 

Licking the seam of Sam’s lips, Dean relented and kissed him, bringing their mouths together and tangling his tongue with Sam’s. But he kept some space between their bodies, allowing Sam’s hard cock to just barely brush against his stomach. Once they were both out of breath, he pulled away, took Sam’s hands and pressed them against the wall on either side of his body. 

“Keep them there. For as long as you can,” he whispered hotly into Sam’s ear, before he kissed his way down Sam’s chest. His hands roved over every wet inch of Sam’s body, caressing, gripping, teasing, taunting, pleasuring... but never for too long in one place. Never long enough, and from the way his husband writhed, he knew it.

Closing his mouth over Sam’s nipple, he suck hard, his hands gripping Sam’s hips to hold him still as he had his way. He tortured and taunted his nipple, sweeping his tongue around it and skillfully pressing his thumb into pressure points across Sam’s abs, knowing each rhythmic press would fire off messages to Sam’s brain... to every nerve in his body... make him want, make him need...

Sam’s breaths came in pants from between his parted lips, escaping between the moans, groans and grunted whimpers that broke from his throat. His head rolled to one side against the tiled wall and his fingers flexed where he held them up, the way Dean had instructed. His hips bucked, or at least tried to, despite how they were restrained by his lover’s hands. His cock pulsed and precome oozed wantonly from the tip.

“Dean,” he breathed softly. His tongue darted out, licking across his parched lips before he pressed them together on a hummed moan. “Want you...” 

“Umm hmmm,” Dean acknowledged, his mouth skimming lower down Sam’s body as he kneeled down and pulled away. “I can hear your heartbeat,” he whispered. “Where should I put my mouth next?” he asked, feeling Sam shift, but knowing he couldn’t see a damned thing because of the thick steam. “Here?” he asked, pressing a kiss next to Sam’s hip bone. “Lower?” he asked, doing just the opposite and mouthing the area right under Sam’s navel.

A whimper broke from Sam and he pulled a hand from the wall to wrap it around the base of his dick despite the cock ring being there. He squeezed himself at the base of his cock and struggled to form something coherent despite the fog that seemed to have enshrouded his brain. 

“Ah... you want it there?” Leaning in, Dean kissed Sam right above where his fingers were closed around his dick. Then he licked between Sam’s fingers, finally pushing Sam’s hand away completely. “So you like the ring?” he asked, knowing damned well Sam would have come several times over by now if it weren’t for the ring. He licked and kissed the area around the ring, all the way down to Sam’s balls, now swollen and a little distended. 

Sam’s breath hitched and shuddered, hitched and shuddered as his body trembled and writhed. His sides heaved with his labored breaths and his head rolled against the tiles. He tried to find words, to speak, to answer Dean’s questions, but all he seemed able to do was release moan after moan mingled with whimpers of pleasure and soft mewls. 

Opening his mouth wide, Dean sucked Sam’s balls into his mouth and rolled the flat of his tongue around, giving him both pulsing pressure and suction. He’d bet his castle that just about now, Sam was hurting to have his mouth around his cock, just like this. Taking his time, swirling his tongue a few more times, he pulled away, sweeping his tongue quickly across Sam’s tip, tasting him, his sweet cum.

Closing his arms round the backs of Sam’s thighs, he leaned forward suddenly, knowing Sam would expect his mouth on his cock. Instead, he kissed his way down first one thigh, then the other.

Standing up, he leaned in, pressed his own now very aroused cock against Sam’s, then grasping both their cocks and pumping his fist up and down as he squeezed them together. “Kiss me,” he demanded.

Sam writhed and groaned, his eyes still closed and head thrashing slowly against the wall. He was lost, lost in pleasure, a low guttural groan escaping him as Dean stroked both their dicks. He forced his eyes open to mere slits at Dean’s words and he stared at his lover dumbly, uncertain whether he had the brain cells left to be able to obey his lusty command. His lips parted and his neck arched, offering his mouth up to Dean, it was the most he seemed to be able to do with the way his cock ached between his legs. 

Cupping Sam’s jaw, Dean kissed him. Hard. He knew he could keep this going for a long time, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the pressure of desire coiling low in his belly. Groaning at the thought of finally taking Sam, he kissed him again, and again, his hand pumping until he was close... too close to coming, and he abruptly pulled back. 

“Turn around,” he whispered, helping Sam since he seemed to be stunned. He pushed him lightly against the wall and started to touch and kiss his back, loving every inch of him, the way he’d done with his front side. Sometimes he reached around and touched Sam’s cock or pressed the pressure points on his abs, keeping Sam on edge.

Sam was a tad embarrassed that he seemed to be so completely out of control of his own body. A warm blush flushed his face, even as he pressed against the cool tiled wall, the temperature difference feeling good against his fevered skin. 

“Take me,” he began huskily only to pause as a low groan tore from his lips and his body arched back toward Dean’s mouth. “To bed,” he continued hoarsely. “Make me yours,” he breathed thickly just before another long low moan ripped from his throat. 

Dean rubbed his cock along the cleft of Sam’s ass, moaning when his tip caught against Sam’s hole. “Yes. Yeah, Sammy, gonna do that,” he vowed, his plans for everything he wanted to show Sam falling away just like that.

Giving the command for the water to stop and the steam to clear, he stepped away, pulling Sam with him. Grabbing a towel, he did a half-assed job of getting them both dry, then pulled Sam up against his frame, and slowly walked him back to the bedroom, his eyes locking with Sam’s. 

Sam’s breath caught at the intense look of want and desire within the depths of his lover’s eyes. “I’m....” he rasped, pausing to swallow hard. “I’m scared,” he confessed despite wanting his husband so badly. 

“Of me?” Dean asked quietly, as the back of Sam’s knees hit the high bed. He swept the gauzy curtains aside, but didn’t move.

Sam shook his head adamantly, “Once,” he admitted. “But that was a long time ago. “Mmm, just...” a deep blush stole over his features and down his neck, up to the tips of his ears. “What we’re gonna.... what comes next,” he explained a little breathlessly. 

A million words of assurance and explanations came to Dean’s mind, but he discarded them all. “Trust me,” he whispered. “Just trust in me.”

He gently guided Sam down on the bed and watched as Sam moved to the center and laid back. Giving him a nod, Dean walked to the paneled wall across from the bed. He waved his hand over it, and the a hidden cabinet door opened. He stopped it from opening wide, not wanting Sam to see the standard toys in his collection. He selected a feather and a vial of special lube that would guarantee Sam would feel no pain.

When he returned, he got on the bed and waved the fluffy cream colored feather in the air, chuckling at Sam’s expression. “Told you. Not scary,”

He parted Sam’s thighs and sat between them, then extended his arm and brushed the feather over Sam’s chest, lingering over his nipples until they hardened. “Do you want to see everything?” he asked. “To watch?”

A grin of amusement curved Sam’s lips. He hadn’t expected the feather but he was grateful for it, for how it had lightened the mood back to something more playful and fun, melting away the nervous tension that had started to settle in his chest and gut. He hummed out a soft moan as he felt the feather dance across his skin then shuddered as it moved over his nipple, swirling around it until the tiny nub tightened and hardened. He blinked his eyes open to gaze up at Dean with his lover’s question and his tongue darted out, licking across his lips as his brow creased thoughtfully. 

“I - I dunno... should I?” Sam asked, honestly not certain that watching, seeing each step that Dean would take, each move that he would make, would actually help his nerves at all. 

Dean gave a shrug, but there was mischief in his eyes. Just as he drew the feather lower, over Sam’s cock, he whispered the word ‘mirror.” For a century, he’d hated them. But now, they suddenly appeared everywhere. On the ceiling, on the sides of the bed and behind him, each of them giving Sam a perfect view of everything they did. “Me? I’d watch,” he whispered, moving the feather just right to make Sam jump, and chuckling. 

“Oh my G… yeah, I wanna see,” Sam decided, his gut clenching at all the images surrounding him and somehow adding to his pleasure. Something he hadn’t thought possible. And he wasn’t only watching himself. He was watching Dean, the expressions crossing his handsome husband’s face. 

Almost no time passed before Sam found himself reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Dean’s wrist, tugging on him to come closer. “Want you...on me,” he murmured huskily. 

Dean merely closed his own hand around Sam’s wrist and pulled it toward him. As soon as Sam unclenched his fingers, he used the feathers on his palm, then kissed him there. “Patience.”

Giving Sam a look, he tortured him for only a little while with the feather, wielding it to maximize Sam’s pleasure. Occasionally he looked in the mirrors, to see Sam’s pleasure, and his own, reflected ten times over. 

Leaning over Sam, he kissed him, but didn’t stay long enough to be dragged down, which was exactly what he saw in Sam’s eyes. Sitting back, he spread Sam’s legs. “Knees up,” he said, not surprised by the heat stealing over Sam’s face. 

He didn’t touch him much just yet. He used the feather to stimulate Sam’s cock and balls, and while Sam was lost in that pleasure, he pulled one of his ass cheeks to one side and slipped the feather down, brushing it over the sensitive puckered skin around his hole. His eyes met Sam’s and locked, then he lowered his head and kissed the inside of Sam’s thigh. “How does it feel?”

Sam swallowed hard as he nodded, “Good,” he croaked before allowing his tongue to dart out and lick across his lips. “I love you,” he rasped softly, his eyes intently watching every move that Dean made. 

“For always,” Dean answered. After he’d let Sam get used the feeling of being touched around his hole, he dropped the feather and dripped some of the clear liquid from the vial onto the tip of his finger. “Blue?” The liquid changed colors and seemed to light up. “No, purp... hm... red,” he decided, after letting Sam see the show of lights, keeping him distracted with it. 

Then he lowered his hand, and rubbed the slippery liquid slowly in circles around Sam’s hole. “You’ll feel heat, that’s all. It’s to prepare you. There’ll be nothing but pleasure, I swear it,” Dean whispered. 

Sam breathed out a soft chuckle as he watched the gel on the tip of his husband’s finger change color at his command. Deep down, he realized the only purpose of the display was to distract him. Meeting Dean’s gaze as he offered him a wide loving smile before sucking in a startled breath as he felt Dean’s slicked finger encircle his hole. His eyes fluttered closed and he gripped the bed linens tightly in one hand. His body stiffened and he held onto the gasp of air he’d taken in as he awaited the intrusion of his lover’s cock, his brow creasing with the effort to not show any pain or signs of fear. 

Though he nodded at Dean’s words of comfort, he truly couldn’t find it in him to believe the sweet words. He’d seen, watched firsthand the men in the dungeon and how they’d grunted and snarled as one filled the other up. A bright crimson blush stained his cheeks at the memory and he in the next second, at the unexpected breach of his hole by Dean’s finger. His back arched as he gulped in a gasped breath, eyes opening momentarily before falling closed once more on a softly hummed moan. 

“That it, relax. This is the worst it will get, and you look like... Yeah, I want some of that,” Dean said, biting his lower lip as Sam moved his hips. He couldn’t wait until it was his cock that was driving Sam to distraction.

Using just a little more of the elixir, Dean wiped his finger, then crawled over Sam. “Now how about some kissing until that takes effect?” he whispered, settling over Sam and caressing his chest. 

Sam’s chest rose and fell with each of his heavy breaths and his eyes slowly fluttered open from the way they’d drifted closed as he nodded, a smile slowly curving the corners of his lips upward. “Yeah,” he breathed in agreement and lifted his arms from the bed, releasing the sheets, and wrapping them around his husband, holding Dean in a firm gentle embrace. His calloused palms brushed over the soft skin of his lover’s back, caressing him. “I like to kiss,” he murmured thickly before allowing his eyes to slide closed and his tongue to dart slightly out, lips parting in invitation. 

“You better mean kiss _me_ ,” Dean said, lowering his mouth over Sam’s and tangling their tongues together in a playful dance. As they kissed, Dean moved against Sam, groaning at how hard his husband was. Sliding his hand between them and rolling slightly to his side, he closed his hand around Sam’s cock and pumped it slowly. 

God, he loved hearing the rhythm of Sam’s breaths change. Loved how he threw himself into their kisses. How he held onto him, so tight, his fingers exploring and sometimes biting into his back. Sensing that Sam was finding the courage to touch his ass, Dean wiggled it a little, in a silent hint.

Sam’s neck arched as Dean’s fingers curled around his throbbing cock, and his own hands found their way to the firm mounds of his husband’s ass cheeks. He hesitantly touched, brushing his fingertips across the rounded flesh then at Dean’s enticement, gripped the muscled globes in his palms, kneading the firm flesh while thrusting upward, pushing his hard length into his lover’s fisted hand. 

They kissed and touched and moved together for far longer than Sam could have taken it without the cock ring, and Dean was sure he wouldn’t have been able to take things this slow if Sam hadn’t tied him down for that lengthy session of ‘torture your prince in bed.’ He’d been thinking about firing Crowley for that, but now he needed to remember to give the man a raise. 

When he thought that enough time had passed for the elixir to do its work, Dean kissed Sam one last time, then shifted, forcing Sam’s legs further apart as he aligned his cock to Sam’s hole. He would ordinarily have teased him for a while, but now, he didn’t want Sam to have time to go back to worrying. “Look up at the mirror,” he said, then just as Sam lifted his face, Dean slowly, but firmly, pushed himself inside, letting out a hard grunt when he found himself tightly sheathed, his heart pounding, his mind, his body, every last instinct screaming at him to claim what was his.

Sam licked his kiss swollen and reddened lips and swallowed hard, pushing down the fear that seemed to want to clench around his throat. He gave a nod to Dean’s instructions and did as he said, lifting his eyes to the ceiling mirror, neck arching back just slightly as he looked up. His eyes squeezed immediately closed as he felt the blunt tip of Dean’s cock push at his hole and he sucked in an audible gasp as his lover’s dick penetrated him, his back arching slightly as his ass muscles contracted against the invasion. 

“Dean,” Sam breathed, voice raw and raspy. He reached up for his lover, fingertips digging into the flesh of Dean’s biceps. His sides heaved with each of his fearful and yet highly excited breaths, each one panting out from between softly parted lips. 

“I’m right here. Inside you,” Dean answered, brushing his lips across Sam’s. “Right here.” He caressed and touched Sam, whispering in his ear, showing him there could only be pleasure between them. He rocked very gently, very slowly, just enough to let Sam get an idea of how it would feel, a little taste he hoped would quickly turn to hunger. “Love you.” 

Sam nodded as he panted, eyes slipping closed and blinking open repeatedly, back and forth, as his back arched just slightly once more at the way Dean began to move. “Oh God...” he groaned breathlessly as his head pressed back against the pillow at the pleasure that shot through his veins and down to his cock. 

“Easy...” Cupping the side of Sam’s neck, Dean kissed him again, moving a little faster, thrusting a little harder. “So tight... so perfect,” he whispered, determined to rein in his lust for as long as he needed, even if the urge to take Sam hard, here and now, was intensifying. “You okay... feel good?” he asked, gritting his teeth as heat surged to his cock and he felt Sam clench and tighten around him.

A long low moan tore from Sam’s throat, a shudder rolling through him as wave after wave of pleasure swamped his nerves. His grip tightened to painful proportions and he sucked in a shocked breath, his grip around Dean tightening, pressing their bodies tighter together as his vision whited out when his lover’s cock struck against his prostate.

“Alright?” Dean let out another hot breath, straining to move slowly. He thrust again, angling his hips and feeling Sam’s fingers digging into him again. He waited a moment, then he started to pull out.

“No, no,” Sam panted desperately as he shook his head, eyes still tightly closed, fingertips digging into his husband’s flesh. “Don’t stop! Don’t stop...” he begged breathlessly. 

“Not stopping,” Dean kissed him, then pulled almost all the way out. “Look at me, Sam,” he demanded, waiting until he could look into Sam’s eyes, before he thrust his hips again, burying himself all the way inside. A deep groan broke from him as fire raced through his system. He lifted slightly and started to thrust his hips rhythmically, his hands flat on the mattress to give him control over his motions. “Do you want me to take you into my hand?” he asked, making sure his body made contact with Sam’s hard cock, trapping it between their bodies. “Or do you like it like this?” he asked, his mind starting to blur with the heat of his desire.

Sam writhed and shook his head, dazed and confused by the intense sensations flooding his system. “I don’t...” he rasped breathlessly. “I dunno....don’t care...Oh God....” he groaned, his hips bucking upward, dragging his ring trapped cock across his lover’s abs while he also pushed back against his lover’s dick in his ass. “More...oh God...” he panted and arched his back, his hands clutching feverishly at his husband’s back and ass, anywhere he could grasp. 

_More._ The word reverberated in Dean’s mind. “More... yeah... Sammy, you tell me if you want to slow down,” he said, and that was the end of his chivalry. He started to thrust harder, sometimes in short, quick strokes, and sometimes in long, deep ones, and sometimes slowing to the point where his own body rebelled against him. He caressed and touched Sam, mapping out his body when he could, or putting his hands back down against the mattress, pounded into him fast and hard, when he needed. 

A firestorm of emotion and lust swept through him. He pushed his hand between them and released Sam from the cock ring, tossing it aside. Looking down at Sam, Dean closed his fist round Sam’s dick. He started to stroke him, pumping his hand up and down, thrusting his hips to the same rhythm, faster and faster as he spiraled towards the edge.

Sam sucked in ragged pants, his chest heaving, his hips moved in tandem with Dean’s, pushing back against his lover’s thrust and bucking upward, pushing his throbbing cock into his husband’s fisted hand. A whimpered groan broke from his throat and his head thrashed upon the pillow as his eyes squeezed tightly closed. His body strained up against Dean’s. One hand pulled from around his lover and tried to hurriedly slip between them, reaching for the base of his cock, wanting to stave off his orgasm but foiled by Dean’s hand pushing his own away. 

“Oh God,” Sam groaned on a whimper. “No, oh God...Oh God, oh God...”   
He sucked in an audible breath. “I’m gonna come!” he exclaimed, nearly shouting the words as he arched his back and neck, body tight as a bow string. In the next second he jerked toward Dean and his spunk soaked his lover’s hand as he came violently, bucking and writhing beneath his lover. 

Dean watched for as long as he could, but the demands of his body were too strong. Heat lit up his stomach, shooting straight to his groin. “Sam.... fuck....” thrusting his hips hard several times in succession and came thick and hard, filling Sam up with his cum. Even after he was spent, he couldn’t stop moving, stop touching, stop kissing Sam. “That was... damn...” he was breathless and gasping in air between kissed. 

Sam’s chest rose and fell heavily with each of his panted breaths that left him through softly parted lips, his body limp and sated. Eyes still closed, his head rolled back and forth against the pillow and soft mewls fell from his lips. “Mmm.” His hummed moan came out as an almost whimper. “So good...felt so good...” he mumbled groggily. 

“Mirrors...” Dean waved his hand, as if too tired to speak. He really didn’t need any reflections to tell him how drained he was, or how happy. 

“Not just good. Damned good, whoo!” Dean blew out a breath and slowly pulled out of Sam, kissing him lightly, before rolling on his back next to him. He took a few more deep breaths. “You know what happens after a good... after this?” He said.

“A nap?” Sam half guessed and half suggested wearily. 

“No,” Dean ran his hand over Sam’s still wet stomach, smiling at him. “Clean up, unless you want to be glued to me in the morning. And... there better be food in the other room or Crowley’s fired. Worked up an appetite,” he said. “Come on, Sammy, you can’t sleep yet...” 

Sam groaned though he refused to open his eyes. “You eat, I’ll sleep so we can do it again later,” he muttered sleepily, an impish smile curving his lips despite the blush that had rushed to his cheeks. 

“Alright. You sure? Ah... you’re not hungry?” Dean shook his head. “Don’t sleep too long, I might want a snack... after my snack. I’ll ah... send in the cleanup crew for you. No more than six servants,” he promised. “They’ll be done in less than a minute.”

Hiding a grin, he quickly made it out of the bed and out of the bedchamber.

Sam’s eyes shot open wide at the idea of anyone cleaning him up after... _this_. “I’m up! I’m up!” he shouted at his husband’s retreating back as he quickly swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled to his feet, hurrying after Dean. 

Laughing as Sam joined him in the bath chamber, Dean confessed, “It would have been no more than three servants...”

Sam huffed as he half-heartedly glared at his husband. “That’s no better,” he grumbled. 

* * *

[6 Months Later]

Although many of his subjects had wanted to spread the word about Castica’s release from the spell, Dean had made an edict that for seven months, no one was to leave. Everyone, from all walks of life, worked hard to set the principality to rights. 

The fire moat was filled up, and all signs of the battles with the writhes eradicated. Farmlands were restored to working order, and the villages and towns that had fallen into disrepair were fixed.

The princes worked right alongside their people, although they were often heard arguing. Prince Dean was adamant that he had always been one to work hard, while Prince Sam claimed he was the one who’d gotten Dean used to the idea of getting his hands dirty. When asked their opinion, no one would choose a side. Even the mouthy Mr. Crowley held his tongue, though he was fired for his silence at least a handful of times.

The Castle now hosted ‘Dungeon-Lite’ evenings every once awhile. Prince Dean sometimes joked that they ought to be serving milk and cookies on those evenings, but his jokes were made out of the hearing range of Prince Sam, for whose benefit the ‘lite’ nights were held. Sam still clung to his privacy, when it came to matters of sex, but he enjoyed watching and even came up with ideas for events and shows. A closed, private room, was set up for their sole use on those occasions when waiting to get to their quarters was not an option. 

Those who’d been trapped in the bodies of children for decades upon decades grew into the bodies of adolescents in a number of months. Magic flowed back into the kingdom, so commoners got back what they had lost. None had the powerful magic of their Prince, for true magic ran through the veins of royals. But everyone had small talents, talents they’d missed and now got back. And even Sam found he could do more than parlor tricks.

When six months had passed, Princes Dean and Sam, and a contingency of friends and retainers, prepared to take their leave. They would go adventuring, under disguise, and find out what the world was like before an official announcement was made that the curse was broken and Castica was open for business with the other principalities. Naturally, Dean had already used his magic to pop into the other principalities and make sure they weren’t about to enter into the mouth of danger, but he craved adventure. And what the Prince of Castica craved, the Prince of Castica got. Some things never changed.

*

“Your horse bit me. Keep it under control or I will have it sent to pasture,” Dean threatened, shoving Hercules's face away from his ass. He was very aware of the laughter from the others, who were also mounting and preparing for their journey.

Sam struggled to bite back the bark of laughter that rose up in his throat as he patted Hercules’s neck fondly. “He simply knows a good thing when he sees it,” he retorted in an effort to aid his husband in saving face, though one glance at Crowley had him almost losing his battle against laughing with the others at Dean’s expense. 

“And here I thought you were anti-sharing your ‘good thing,’” Dean muttered, then he glared at Tempest who was nuzzling Hercules. “Traitor.” 

This time, Sam was completely unable to hold back his laughter. As it ebbed, his eyes found Dean’s and he slowly shook his head. “I don’t share, but can I help it if my horse has good taste?” 

Dean gave a displeased grump and mounted his horse. “Crowley, I want you to have that horse trained... teach him some manners.”

“The horse. Yes your highness, but you’re leaving and...”

“And? Get on a horse, you’re coming with us.”

“I am?”

“Of course, you love adventures.”

“I do?”

Dean looked over at Sam. “Do you or don’t you distinctly remember Crowley bragging about his adventurous nature?”

Sam smirked and his gaze darted between the two of them. “Only between the sheets, I think,” he responded with a wink in Crowley’s direction. 

“See, Sam remembers. Mount up Crowley, or you’re fired!” Digging his heels lightly into Tempest’s side, Dean gave Sam a look. “Bet you can’t beat me to Land’s End Tavern.”

Sam quirked a disbelieving brow, “You’re on,” he agreed and dug his heels into Hercules’ side, “Yah!” he shouted, the horse immediately taking off at breakneck speed, galloping hard across the field toward the castle gates. 

Laughter and shouts filled the air as others followed. Crowley shouts of, “Hold on, I’m not ready,” was lost in the din.

THE END


End file.
